


Hubris and Nemesis

by Hirvitank, OneWhoTurns



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Choking, Corruption, Dark, Dark Romance, Denial, Doppelganger, Dreams and Nightmares, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Horror Elements, Kinktober 2018, Magic, Mark of the Outsider (Dishonored), Masochism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Possession, Power Dynamics, Pre-Dishonored 2 (Video Game), Rated for Future Content, Restraint, Sadism, Self-Indulgent, Supernatural Elements, Tentacles, The Void, dark!outsider, emsider, magic as an aphrodisiac, magic like a drug, malicious void, unapologetic smut, unhealthy relationship dynamics, vampiric undertones, void magic, wow this outtie's a bit of a dick eh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hirvitank/pseuds/Hirvitank, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoTurns/pseuds/OneWhoTurns
Summary: What had she been thinking, bringing the heretical object back to the tower? The thought had popped into her head more often than she’d expect given she’d only stolen the thing six nights ago. And every time, she repeated her assurance like a mantra: just a bit of bone and an unhealthy dose of superstition.





	1. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only mad people ever claimed to see the Outsider. And she wasn’t mad. So she wouldn’t see him.

Most of Emily’s nighttime wanderings were scored by the river and the rats. Not the four-legged kind - at least, not often - but it was rare to find a good man wandering about in the wee hours. Sometimes there were boats, in some parts of the city the soft murmur of guards’ voices. Most often, once she began to move amongst the more residential buildings of her city, leaping roof-to-roof, tumbling and vaulting and grappling for a handhold, she heard very little beyond the snoring of the inhabitants. But tonight, as she moved further from the river, winding her way from main boulevard to tiny alleys, she heard something else. No, not heard: felt.

She paused where she stood, shaking out her hands and glancing over them for tears in her gloves, maybe something that would be making her skin buzz anxiously. She was all in one piece, so it wasn’t some bodily response, and while she felt the standard adrenaline of her nightly ventures, she wasn’t particularly on-edge (though the longer she heard the eerie hum, the more it nagged at her). She took a few steps first one direction, then the other, casting about for where the sound was coming from. _Sound_. That wasn’t the word for it, though. It was beyond just the dull thrum reminiscent of devices fueled by whale oil. There was something else to it, as well. Like wind chimes, maybe. But not just the soft tinkle of tuned pipes, more like… like glass and tin cans, softly clinking against each other with an underlying melody, a sound like the wind itself, that raised goosebumps on her skin. Despite the unsettling feeling, it wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

Finally Emily thought she’d managed to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. She took a moment to listen for voices or snores before she made her move. Another vault between buildings, dropping down from a roof and catching herself on the ledge of a window below, and she pulled herself into the room that seemed to echo with the ethereal humming. Silently pushing past the heavy drapes that shrouded the window - too sumptuous for this part of the city, she realized curiously - Emily faltered. The room was bathed in violet light. Her hand left the weapon she’d instinctually reached for at her side, instead closing the heavy curtains behind her before she took a few silent steps further into the room.

The light came from purple lamps placed almost haphazardly around the room, with most arrayed around a structure she could only describe as a shrine. Jagged boards burst from a central platform, a couple thrusting nearly to the ceiling, parts wrapped in twisted barbed wire, making for an intimidating tableau. The noise - the feeling - seemed to be coming from this. The soft chimes wafted from the violet lamps, but the humming, the buzz on her skin, came from the shrine itself. No, not just the shrine. As Emily padded closer, she felt herself reaching out, eyes bright, fingers itching to touch the source of the eerie vibrations.

Questing hands lifted the thick, plate-like rune, running delicate fingers over every detail. It looked… somehow familiar. Tracing the symbol carved into what must be whale bone, it hit her: in the tower. The tower by the Hound Pits Pub, where she’d sheltered so briefly during the Rat Plague. She’d found something like this - almost identical, even - and it had given her nightmares for days before she finally got rid of it. She could still remember the solemn look on her father’s face when he’d taken it from her offering hands without a word.

Her lips curved, wryly. The Rat Plague was a distant memory now, all twisted up and warped by time and childish fears. She hefted the disk in her hands casually. It wasn’t so scary now, was it? Even the hum had died down once she’d touched it - the dry, chalky texture of it still somewhat discomfiting. But nothing she couldn’t handle. Just a bit of heretical arts and crafts, wasn’t it? She let out a huff of derisive laughter. To think, how terrified she’d been as a child… A spark lit in her eyes. The boogeyman of her youth couldn’t scare her now.

She turned to the rest of the room, gaze scanning the otherworldly lamps and the unintelligible scrawlings that littered the walls. She was reminded of her teenage years. The urban myths and ghost stories, being dared to chant some schoolyard summons in a graveyard. That time she and Alexi, no older than 14, had held hands around a candle and softly repeated the singsong rhyme of Granny Rags, their voices rising over the requisite three repetitions, and the tense pause once they’d completed it. And the screams and giggles that had burst forth when adjusting themselves had made a floorboard creak. Childish fears and childish stories.

Fingers still idly tracing the symbol, Emily smirked at the empty room, eyes roaming the ceiling and feet pacing the floor as she whispered. “Oh mister Outsider…” Her voice was that same singsong tone, but not the excitedly terrified voice of a teenager. She spoke a little louder, the amusement clear in her sarcastic tone. “Come on, ‘God of the Void’...” It was thrilling, tempting fate like this.

The old superstitions sent a shiver down her back as she paused. Nothing was happening. Of course it wasn’t; it didn’t work like that. The Outsider wasn’t a _person,_ it was an _idea_. An amorphous concept scapegoated by the Abbey, meant to scare children - and adults - into doing the right thing. Only mad people ever claimed to see the Outsider. And she wasn’t mad. So she wouldn’t see him. Her grin flashed wolfishly in the lamplight, emboldened. She turned back to face the shrine once more. Her fingers ran carefully over the wooden frame, enjoying the way her hair stood on end. “Your Empress summons you…” A memory flashed through her mind - a snapshot from her childhood nightmares - and she added, in a dark whisper, “...my black-eyed boy…”

She closed her eyes, as if she might channel something, imagining she might once more feel that hum that had drawn her in, or some wind off the Void. If she tried hard enough she could pretend there was a breath in the air, a heat spreading from the base of her spine….

“ _Shit-_ ” Her eyes snapped open and she hissed in pain, drawing her hand away from where she’d pricked it on the barbed wire that twined around the shrine. She stuck the bleeding finger  in her mouth, pressing her tongue against the cut before she could think of how that likely wasn’t a good idea in this part of town. She looked around again. The spell was broken -- if it had ever been there to begin with. No more hum in the air; even the lamps were silent. She glanced at her wound with annoyance, then glared back at the shrine. _What am I doing?_ This was ridiculous. She was too old for something this silly. With not a small amount of spite, she secured the rune to take with her, and sent one final irritated glance over her shoulder before she pushed back the curtains again. She had to return to Dunwall Tower, but she’d be taking a souvenir.

 

* * *

  
He stirred within the darkness, shifted his stiff joints, ancient muscles, rattling bones - his body hissed with every small movement, like a pit of snakes. His grace was nothing short of sluggish, the ways in which he carried himself echoing with otherworldly magic; unnatural and almost sickening to watch. He was watching - as he always did - his darkened eyes closed, his curved ears peaked with concentration. The ashen skin that covered his bones moved without the pull of muscle or tendon, prompted only by the crackling energy that emanated from somewhere deep within. His forehead would wrinkle occasionally, forming grooves and edges into the pale, ageless dermis. Black smoke flowed all around him, lapped up the tattered remains of his robes, wrapped him in its cradling tendrils.  
  
He’d shuddered at a familiar touch, prim and proper, with nails and skin too smooth to belong to any of his usual callers. No - he recognised the exact texture of her flesh as it traced his through the fabric of dimensions.  
  
Empress Emily Kaldwin.  
  
He’d leaned into her touch, his interest peaked at the thought of her visiting the derelict corners of her corrupted little Empire, lingering at his shrines. It had been a long time since he’d last seen her, and she was a long way from her safe little Tower - causing him to wonder what had made her want to come out and play on this particular night. Sharp eyes were quick to find her and watch her every move, the girl completely unaware of his lugubrious presence, his secretive touch hidden within every hinted shadow that wrapped around her. She looked nothing like the little girl he’d found stumbling into the Void - no, he smirked to himself; she definitely didn’t look like her at all. Her body had obviously developed into womanhood, her robes clinging to her curves in a way that suggested more than they implicitly revealed. He saw Jessamine in her elegant features, sharpened just the right amount by Corvo’s Serkonan heritage. She was a mixture of hot and cold, of warm olive skin and cool silken hair.  
  
_“Oh mister Outsider…”_ Her smooth voice called out to him,  _“Come on,‘God of the Void’...”_ The sarcasm in her tone was unmistakable, and he felt a hungry smirk tug at his lips, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek as his mind circled her with interest. She turned towards the shrine, the purple lights embracing her features and washing the warmth from her eyes and skin, painting her to be as pale and dead as him. A grin had twisted her lips and bared her teeth, the pearly whites glinting in the esoteric lighting. _“Your Empress summons you… my black-eyed boy…”_  
  
She closed her eyes as her fingers lingered upon the wood of the altar, her head tilted ever so slightly. He used the shadows to creep up on her, materialising within the stale air of the room, the black trails of smoke indistinguishable from the surrounding darkness. Wordlessly and eerily still, he hovered over her shoulder, his face only a fraction away from the tempting skin of her neck. She enticed him, her skepticism was evident from the very way she carried herself, the teasing quality of her voice far too casual for someone calling upon the Void itself. He was nothing but a scary story to her, a superstition. Little did Her Majesty know - they were all the same to him, fickle and weak. He knew the ways in which her mind worked, and he knew each and every fear that ruled her actions. He inhaled, once, just to see what it would be like, his eyes closing as he tried to picture her scent. She had absolutely no power over him, and he almost felt offended by her royal ego. Almost.  
  
_“Shit-”_  
  
He vanished instantly, driven away by age-old instinct, leaving behind nothing but a small wisp of smoke. He’d returned to the Void, the image of the Empress now but a thought at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. The hint of a frown contorted his features, his shadowy eyes opening once more. Moments passed in the blink of an eye, and he wondered whether or not he and the Empress of the Isles would ever cross paths again.  
  
Another touch, and his tell-tale smirk returned to his face. It would seem he‘d gotten his answer already, the familiar features of Emily Kaldwin springing back into clear view, her delicate fingers wrapped around one of his runes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's our lovely trash. Enjoy! It devolves to smuttiness... relatively quickly. "Dark romance" may end up in the tags. [Along with sadism, so be warned now.] OneWhoTurns wrote for Em, Hirvitank wrote for the Outsider.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What had she been thinking, bringing the heretical object back to the tower? The thought had popped into her head more often than she’d expect given she’d only stolen the thing six nights ago. And every time, she repeated her assurance like a mantra: just a bit of bone and an unhealthy dose of superstition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Given the nature of the co-op (rp), and our respective origins (one American, one European), you may notice differences in the usual formatting/spelling conventions. The spellings have been maintained for each author separately. And I'm just too lazy to bother trying to mash together every section.  
>  -OWT_

Emily lay in bed, fingers running up and down the delicate chain that tickled the skin of her neck, skirting over the small key that hung there. Over the past week it had gone from a tarnished grey to a gleaming silver, polished by her near-constant touch. She’d almost wanted to sit on her hands during her last council meeting, concerned her constant worrying of the trinket would draw too much attention. She’d caught one of the staff who tidied her quarters giving her a knowing look, the day before, well-aware of the drawer the key belonged to.

There was a small hidden compartment in the frame below Emily’s mattress, centered at the foot of her bed. A place one might hide keepsakes or lover’s tokens. No doubt, that’s what the maidservant assumed Emily had hidden. The thing she seemed to hold so close to her heart, if her fiddling with the key meant anything. If the servant had known the truth of it…

What had she been thinking, bringing the heretical object back to the tower? The thought had popped into her head more often than she’d expect given she’d only stolen the thing six nights ago. And every time, she repeated her assurance like a mantra: just a bit of bone and an unhealthy dose of superstition. The nightmares of her youth weren’t caused by the rune itself -- she’d been kidnapped. Her mother had been murdered. It was enough to give any child night terrors. A child’s mind would cope by blaming the dreams on magic and witchcraft and otherworldly gods.

She conveniently forgot that the nightmares were never so bad in the months between her mother’s death and finding the rune. And before the bit of carved bone, she’d never seen the black-eyed boy.

The empress shifted onto her side, restless.

The first night with this new rune had been odd, but bearable. She’d woken once, feeling stifled, ears ringing and legs too wobbly to stand, but couldn’t remember a single hint of any dreams she might have had. Returning to sleep, she’d managed to last the rest of the night. The day after her acquisition she’d been perhaps a bit tired, but functioning. But from there, it had only gone downhill. Her dreams had begun to change.

The hum, the chime of violet lamps, would start it off. Draped cloth and barbed wire, hazy purple light, and thick black smoke, like ink swirling in water. Each night opened with a reminder - as if she could forget her folly. Then came the dark, the cold, the chill of rock and ozone; an echo in her head that somehow made her think of slaughterhouse row, this massive distant keening of pathetic agony. From there, a variety of scenes took regular rotation, each and every one leaving her utterly unsettled. She would wake two or three times throughout the night, each time staring at the ceiling, mind hurriedly rationalizing, before she could convince herself to return to sleep. If this kept up much longer it would impact her work.

She’d woken maybe two minutes, maybe half an hour ago. She couldn’t be sure. In the dream her heart had gone from deathly slow, a morose pounding in her ears, to a steadily quickening thud - faster and faster and more and more frantic, as though something were speeding toward her, coming at her from the dark, an arrow or a bullet or a hammer that had set her as its target, or a beast, or a storm -- something that _would not stop_ until she she’d been impaled or pierced or pulverized, devoured, destroyed -- an unstoppable force with her as its target, her heart ready to burst with the thrill of complete fear. And now she wouldn’t close her eyes. She didn’t want to go back to that.

Not every dream was so clearly malicious, though. Pushing her sheets away, giving herself space to breath, Emily’s mind wandered to the dream she’d had the night before. Just the thought of it made her squirm, a jolt running down her spine. It hadn’t been entirely coherent, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be clearer or to forget about it completely. Those eyes… She shivered, even as her skin seared with sudden heat. Air seemed to catch in her throat, her breath thick at the thought of it.

Rolling over again, she let her curiosity get the better of her. Twining her calves, locking her knees together, her eyelids fell shut as she tried to remember. It had felt like that moment at the shrine. _My black-eyed boy…_ Even recalling it the hair on her neck stood on end, remembering the breath she’d imagined. She wrapped the chain of the necklace over and over until she felt the pulse in her fingertips. The dream hadn’t stopped there.

Emily bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to sort through the memory, toes curling at images of lips - teeth - on skin, and restless hands that burned despite their coldness. She swallowed hard, brow furrowing as she tried to recall why the dream had caused her to jerk awake with wide terrified eyes. From what she could remember, it hadn’t been a _bad_ dream. She liked skin-on-skin well enough. Sure, the idea of his hand around her neck was frightening - the theoretical possibility that in one swift move or one long squeeze she could be dead - but it hadn’t been threatening, just… Her cheeks flushed as she turned over again.

She couldn’t stop the constant shifting, pressing her thighs together. Her breaths were heavy but quiet, trying to hold on to fleeting sensations. One hand dragged nails over her belly, her hip - as he had - before she tugged the hem of her nightgown back down over her thighs, feeling all too tempted. Trying to remember his face, she found herself frustrated. She could recall the feeling of his lips but not what they looked like. She’d felt silken hair that had brushed her skin, but couldn’t remember the color or the length. The only thing she remembered was the eyes. Empty. Black. Cold.

Her shoulders, her back tensed, and her breath caught again. Untangling her fingers, her hand pressed to her sternum, feeling the anxious thrum of her heartbeat. She forced herself flat on her back, eyes snapping open. This was madness. She had to come to her senses. Nails dug into her mattress as she let out a long breath.

...Water. Some to drink, some to wash her face, and then back to bed. She raised herself to a seated position, then pulled herself out of bed, uncomfortably aware of how her silken nightgown seemed to chafe, suddenly too tight across her chest. She almost wanted to fan herself. _Stupid._ Shaking her head, Emily made her way to the bathroom, bare feet silent as she padded across the floor, the noise of the tap practically deafening as she splashed some cool water over her face, rubbing her eyes with a soft sigh. She needed to get ahold of herself.

Sipping from a glass of water, she forced her mind to other topics. She’d run through memorized lists of cities and exports if she had to. Anything to make her blood settle. Her gaze was on the floor, remembering her childhood mnemonics in a mental singsong, as she returned to her bedroom.

* * *

The rune had brought him here again, the occult trinket that had been carefully stowed away into a secured compartment of her bed - the large piece of furniture that stood covered in rich silk and heavy down, quite unlike the seedy mattresses most impoverished labourers had the displeasure of sleeping on. No, this was royal, and he found himself dropping down in sheer mockery, imagining how the cushions would have dipped beneath his weight had he been any other man. Black smoke seeped into the white linen beneath, drenching it with traces of dark magic, the invisible stains most likely never to fade. He closed his eyes, crossing his arms behind his head as he waited for his little Empress to return, the distinct squeak of faucets being turned in the background.

He’d been toying with her this past week, but as usual he found he was quick to bore. He’d had his fair share of fastidious noblewomen, each and every one of them more eager than the last to give in to his corruption. They had proven themselves to be as predictable as the tides, all hungering to step away from their sterile lifestyles and surrender themselves to iniquity. Some he had enjoyed more than others, those who almost masterfully unhinged their own psyches, and gave in to the demented influence of the Void were always the most satisfying to observe. There was a deplorable kind of satisfaction, a scandalous thrill, to be found in the calculated unraveling of the aristocratic mind - the downwards spiral of the upper class.

The flow of water had stopped, and he knew she’d return shortly. He felt his lips curl with mischief as he dispelled the usual smoke that clung to him, making sure his eyes remained closed to keep from giving himself away right then and there. He preferred a more measured approach, one that allowed him to get as much out of his ruinous game as possible. Bare feet could be heard padding across the wooden boards, and he couldn’t hide the amusement from his ancient features as he awaited her. Once she was halfway the room he spoke, his voice a well-composed mixture of offhand aloofness and a hint of underlying appraisal. “The human mind is unable to clearly distinguish fear from arousal until it fully processes the cause, the correlated bodily reactions entirely interchangeable. Did you know that, Your Majesty?”

* * *

Emily’s gaze snapped up as a voice - with the same ethereal hum she’d been unable to forget - spoke from her bed. The glass dropped from her hands, landing with a hollow ring as water sunk quickly into the carpet that cushioned its fall, and she immediately lunged right, to where her ceremonial sword had last been so _un_ ceremoniously dumped. It wasn’t her usual fighting blade - this one had a gaudy hilt she found a bit much - but it was a weapon. In another second the sword was drawn, glinting in the silvery light from the windows -- what could’ve been the moon, or just security floodlights.

With something sharp placed between her and the intruder, Emily finally took a moment to look at him. Her left hand tugged absently at her nightgown, all too aware of its abbreviated length, as her eyes evaluated him. She didn’t want to believe it, and she refused to accept the first idea that had popped into her head at his voice, but he _did_ look familiar. It took her a moment to fully process what he’d said, and she felt the flush she’d only just recovered from returning. Amber eyes glared in the dark, rolling her wrist and adjusting her grip on the blade as she took a couple tentative steps toward the man who looked far too comfortable lazing on the empress’s bed.

She ignored how silly she must look: barefoot and bare-legged, the lace and tiered ruffles of her nightgown, her sword overtly ornamental. Chin determinedly level, her next step was more assured. A series of questions buzzed in her mind - _Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here? What do you want?_ \- and she worried if she spoke too soon she’d trip over her tongue. Bright eyes, desperately curious, flicked to the hidden lock in the bed frame. Finally, after a tense pause, she swallowed. She understood his words all too well; her skin seemed to vibrate with anticipation and anxiety, her chest tight and wandering gaze taking in his features - his noticeably closed eyes in particular - a little too hungrily.

Well, why not start at the beginning? “Who are you.” It was a demand rather than a question.

* * *

He felt a smug smile creep onto his features, followed by a throaty chuckle that was just a tad too slow, a bit too unnatural. The sound had an underlying rattling quality, uncontrolled and dangerous - it dripped with dark magic.  
  
"I’ve always wondered what it’d be like, to be taken apart by an empress..." He licked his lips, the twisted smile never leaving his face. The darkness of the room gradually swallowed the both of them as his presence slowly but surely sucked all the light from the cooling atmosphere. A single rat skittered by, it’s small feet filling the air with fast-paced taps. "It’s a sort of fantasy of mine," he continued unconcernedly, leisurely removing one of his arms from behind his head, the bones beneath his skin popping and cracking with the movement. "All the way from here..." His fingers trailed the leather of his jacket, starting at his stomach, his nails scratching along the material. "To here." They stopped abruptly, coming to rest on top of his sternum.  
  
There was a squeak as another rat scurried along the wooden floor, its nails scratching the panels. "It’s what they did to the plague victims as they searched their intestines - their organs turned to mush by the sickness, a big body filled with soup."

* * *

Emily shifted foot to foot unconsciously, the eerie laughter tickling her spine. She wanted to shake like a dog, to throw the creeping noise off of her, but she managed to keep mostly still. Even if she didn’t _want_ to believe it, there was little doubt left in her mind - as the air around her warped and folded, darkness seeming to seep from between stitches in the very fabric of reality - of who exactly this man was.

She listened to him warily, unable to stop the way his macabre words made her lip curl.

_"All the way from here… to here."_

“Don’t tempt me,” she almost sneered the quiet warning with a flick of her blade, though she made no move forward. Her mind raced, his words of earlier proving true as her body warred with itself. It was hard to see his hands make such sensual movements when his words were so…

Her back stiffened as the rat seemed to come from nowhere, but she kept her position, her eyes only glancing away briefly. As he went on, her brow furrowed in repulsion. The image was grotesque. “That’s disgusting.” Her voice was flat, unimpressed, even as she felt the pull of morbid fascination. The images he conjured weren’t unfamiliar - they’d featured in her nightmares as a child, as well, before she’d ever come in contact with any runes. A feature for many children of the rat plague, she suspected. But he’d avoided her question. “As informative as this is, you seem to have forgotten to answer me: _Who. Are. You_. Why are you here?”

* * *

He so enjoyed watching each and every expression flit across her face, the rich display of emotion manifesting for a single moment, and gone the next - fleeting. She didn’t need to speak, her features did all the talking - a talent she’d obviously inherited from her father. How did this woman even manage to rule with such an outspoken temper? Surely the nobility would be most unamused by her propensity. Or perhaps, she only unveiled her obvious penchant for violence to strange men who came into her room unannounced. Either way, she was a delight to provoke.  
  
"Why I’m here?" He seemed to weigh the words as he spoke them, tilting his head at the question. "My, Emily," he slowly lifted himself, the bending of his spine accompanied by the creak of leather, the movement causing his jacket to stretch across each vertebrae. Tendrils of thick, black smoke seeped out of his sleeves as he allowed both his arms to hang at his sides, his eyes opening slowly to meet her gaze. "I’m here because you called me." His voice was loaded with mockery, his stare cold and calculating as he awaited her answer.

* * *

A soft thudding grew in her ears - slower, but harder - as she stilled her breath, stilled every part of her while he moved. It was entrancing to watch. Hypnotizing. Terrifying. Whatever he was, it wasn’t human. Human-adjacent, maybe. Like a warped reflection. The smoke that curled off of him seemed to beckon to something in her blood, and she found her eyes straying to her own skin, the veins in her sword arm for a moment seeming to writhe in her own imagination.

It was a dream, it must be.

Her own head tilted slightly as she watched the thin skin at the crook of her elbow -- curious, confused, her mind feeling full of seawater, lips parting in brief fascination. She blinked once, twice, and managed to pull herself back to her senses.

When she looked back to him again, she was jarred. She didn’t quite gasp - she wasn’t the sort - but she let in a quick quiet breath, her heart leaping as she met his gaze. Those eyes.

Her own amber eyes were glassy, and in a moment a black ink seemed to drop into them, swirling over her irises until her pupils seemed to swallow any touch of color. Her skin remained gold in the darkness, her nightgown practically glowing ivory, but her eyes were stark - all black and white.

Magic. This was real, true magic, and it wasn’t rainbows and unicorns. She was playing with fire here. Emily licked her lips absently, her mouth far too dry.

A war raged in her. Fear, regret, a lament that she’d never meant this to happen - cursing herself for tempting fate, for mocking the Void - but also amazement and wonder and a hungry curiosity for what would come next. Something in her cautioned herself, warned of the fatal risks of mucking about with dark magic, but another part flashed every scrap of nightmare through her mind, the good and the bad, and she couldn’t look away. In another fraction of a second she was back.

The words fell from her lips without thought, the first thing that came to mind, her tone dazed: “You’re late.”

* * *

The only outward reaction he allowed to show was the slight intrigued tilt of his head, his eyes unblinking as they held her gaze with unfaltering interest. She was either incredibly brave, or incredibly daft. Perhaps a bit of both. Either way, she was unpredictable enough to earn his undivided attention.  
  
He didn’t move as black tendrils of sludge like smoke poured from his orifices; his nose, his eyes, his ears - like contaminated streams of oily water passing sluggishly through river mud - dissolving the skin beneath until he consisted of nothing but the onyx smog that stained the mattress, pillowed across the floorboards, misty remnants sticking to the edges. Like tentacles, the sooty vapor moved across the space that separated them, dancing and hissing as if burning - consuming - all it touched. He rematerialised behind her, their bodies only a fraction apart, the smoke that trailed after him curling around her calves, caressing the exposed skin there. He lowered his head until his face hovered just above her shoulder, next to her neck - as he had done back when she had visited his shrine.  
  
"And you, Empress," he breathed the words against her skin, his voice a low murmur, "are underdressed." He licked his lips, a derisive smirk pulling at the corners.

* * *

Every muscle in her tensed, thrilling, her pulse jumping into overdrive, ears ringing. Emily was almost glad he was behind her now, unable to see the way her eyes had widened, her chest and cheeks going pink at his words. Her mind raced, trying to throw off whatever seemed to be interfering with her thoughts - something she worried was entirely self-created, an internal turmoil struggling between logic and hunger and fear. She swallowed hard, holding back a whimper. Her toes curled as once more her dreams flickered their dark and tantalizing imagery.

Dreams... Was this a dream, then? She wasn’t sure anymore. The magic of it - the whisper of smoke and sheer impossibility of the man’s ethereal travel - pointed to complete fantasy, but it felt so _real_. Did her dreams feel this real? But if she was aware it was a dream, shouldn’t she be able to control it? She could control herself - or she certainly hoped she could - but didn’t feel any kind of control over the situation. But every dream since finding the rune had felt out of her control. At least here she could move as she wished.

As if to prove this fact to herself, she lowered the blade slowly, trying to keep her hands from shaking. It wasn’t exactly _fear_ that made her tremble. She was overwhelmed. Confused. She’d gotten a taste of the mystery, tart and sweet, and part of her wanted - _needed_ \- to know more.

Thick eyelashes barely fluttered as she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and pressing her shoulders back, keeping her posture as regal as she could manage. She could imagine sparks arcing over her skin, prickling in the static between them. Her voice came out hoarser than she’d hoped as she tried to sound bitingly casual, tried to control the tension that made her want to shake her whole body out. It itched at her. “And what else, pray tell, might one wear to sleep?”

Damn it — she should be changing the subject, interrogating him, not letting him drive her from the answers she desperately needed. He was just so _distracting_.

* * *

A throaty chuckle rumbled within him, underlined by a chilling undertone that hid between the notes - vibrations that thrummed with otherworldly static. "Are you asking for my opinion, or my advice?" He raised his right hand towards her shoulder, fingers dancing just above the skin, his face leaning in further towards her cheek, nose close to bumping against the shell of her ear. "Because if it’s the first..." There was a warning edge to his voice that foreshadowed the presence of something uncontrollable within him, a never ending hunger that yearned to devour and deprave. His hand lowered, agonisingly slow - pulling, beckoning, almost unnoticeable. The sleeve of her nightgown moved without being touched, the ruffles stretched by some invisible force, until it fell off her shoulder. He whispered, voice dropping low enough to consist of nothing but the vibrations that danced against her skin. "I’d prefer nothing."

* * *

For the first time since she’d stopped her lessons Emily shut her eyes tight and tried to remember the strictures. _Wandering gaze... lying tongue... restless hands... roving feet... rampant hunger... wanton flesh... errant mind_. Somehow she was falling prey to all seven. So this was what the Abbey cautioned against.  
  
_...within these things the Outsider dwells..._  
  
She tried to keep her composure, but it. Was. _Difficult_. Muscles in her jaw flexed, not quite hard enough to make her teeth creak, and she couldn’t help the slight tremor of her breath as she inhaled. She held the air in her lungs until her ears pulsed and her head pounded. He was so close - too close - but not quite touching, never touching, and it was agony. Then again, his touch could only be worse, surely.  
  
Her eyes snapped open again, feeling cloth move against her skin, and she kept her head straight even as her gaze snapped sideways, unable to look away. Once her head began to swim for lack of air she released the breath, and was mortified by the small whimper that escaped as well. She was furious with herself. She dragged her stare to the floor, dreading his response.

* * *

The Outsider paused at the sound, hand freezing where it still lingered above her skin. If there was one thing he relished the most - cherished like a rare treasure meant to be plucked and plundered - then it was control. Of course, there were certain demands meant to be met, criteria he preferred. It wasn’t about knowledge, or predictability - no, if anything those things had nothing to do with it. To him, it was all about the push and pull, the delicious delectation that came from the perfect balance of give and take. It was a balance he sought to create, spurred on by an intense yearning to - once realised - tear it all to pieces.  
  
But such things took patience, dedication, cunning... time. Lucky for him he possessed all the time in the world, and a devotion to match. There was no need to rush things, no pressure that forced his actions. And as the Empress, the intrepid woman in front of him, whimpered, he felt a deplorable sense of satisfaction halt his movements. A sneer that was nothing short of smug split his features, his eyes closing as he allowed the moment to linger just a bit longer, before letting his hand return to his side.  
  
"Of course," he moved back, straightening behind her, his voice back to the derisive inflection he so often wielded, "I’m certain an Empress of all people has no interest in my opinion." He shook his head mockingly. "What would our dear old Corvo even say if he ever found out?" The words were spoken almost gleefully, resonating with exaggerated shock.

* * *

She tried not to sigh her relief as he withdrew, though her chin raised a millimeter or two. Breathing was somehow easier with him further away. Her posture remained erect, but her muscles relaxed a bit, no longer feeling seized by ten thousand volts of electrical current. Her eyes, amber once more, did close for a moment, thanking the Abbey for (for once in her life) being vaguely useful to her. Focusing on the strictures had been surprisingly helpful, even if in her daily life she found them restrictive and prudish. She’d fallen to all of them at one time or another without guilt, but never been so thoroughly tempted as around the infamous tempter himself. The straight-laced Overseers seemed to have a point, as loathe as she was to admit it.

Her mind was attempting to sort itself out, unfogging a bit as the distraction was removed from immediate contact. With her brain making a valiant effort to think more clearly, his mocking statement had her hooked again. She didn’t want to look at him - a part of her worried she’d fall into those abyssal eyes - but neither did she want to cower and hide.

Thin fingers twitched as she verified that they still worked, and gradually she adjusted herself in one fluid controlled movement. Not fleeing, just turning. She wouldn’t retreat, nor would she advance. She’d hold her ground.

Still, she would not meet his eyes. Instead she surveyed the rest of him as her hands flexed, feeling unusually stiff, as though she’d been frozen for far longer than the minute or so she’d stood there. She tried to size him up, as her father had taught her to evaluate opponents - but at the thought of her father she remembered why she’d turned in the first place.

The rune. The mark she’d seen on her father’s hand when she was a child.

“He called you too, didn’t he?” Thoughts of her father, at least, pushed off some of the more… lascivious images of her nightmares. She set her gaze on his collarbone. “During the rat plague. He used that rune I found and he called you.” She spoke her theory confidently, eyes drifting down one of his arms as she focused on recalling all she could from her time at the Hound Pits.

It was hard to remember, so many years ago, especially with the added stress of her mother’s death and the plague itself. Not to mention that everyone seemed to keep her in the dark. No one wanted to tell the child empress that the streets swarmed with rats and human scum alike. Not a single Loyalist seemed to feel even a drop of guilt over using her as a means to an end, the same way the regent had. A puppet. A glorified trophy, the bearer of which would rule the empire. Locking her away to entertain herself, alone, answering her questions with vague platitudes. She’d wept many angry tears that year. Some sad. But more angry.

Emily’s voice had stopped, and she stared at the deity’s hand, remembering her father’s and the symbol that stained it. A coldness seeped into her bloodstream, her lip curling as she voiced a question she probably didn’t want to know the answer to. It came out bitter, with a surprising amount of viciousness. “Did you seduce him, too?”

* * *

She regained some of her composure once he stepped back, the visible muscles of her arms noticeably softening, the tension she’d been showing seeming to melt from her physique. It made for an intriguing watch, the way her body appeared to react to just his presence. She didn’t move to adjust the sleeve he’d so teasingly pulled from her shoulder, instead she surprised him by turning towards him, her daring attitude invigorated now that he’d given her some room to think. She didn’t meet his eyes, however, and he noticed how she instead studied the rest of him. He made good use of her passiveness by scrutinising her in return, eyes trailing the airy material of her nightgown and lingering wherever he could find the subtle outlines of her curves.

 _“He called you too, didn’t he?”_ His eyes shot back to her face at the words, her eyes still focused elsewhere. _“During the rat plague. He used that rune I found and he called you.”_ He tipped his head as he pretended to consider her theory, knowing it to be far from the truth. He used the moment to further inspect her features, drawn to the tempting curves of her lips. She possessed a rare kind of beauty, the sharp edges and contours of her face blended together fluidly, the overall appearance softened by the gentle arch of her mouth. Looking into her eyes he could discern a fire that burned with bitter indignation, flickering brightly within pools of warm amber. That same indignation could be heard in her voice as she posed her final question, her stare fixed on one of his hands. _“Did you seduce him, too?”_

He moved the hand she’d been looking at, raising it until his index finger almost touched her chin, a curl of smoke licking the olive skin above. He willed her head to lift, black tendrils pushing from beneath as he lowered his face - until his lips were mere inches removed from hers. His eyes waited for her to meet them, thick lashes close to brushing her skin.

“Is that what you think I’m doing right now, Your Majesty?” He purred the words, his eyebrows raising in question. “Or is it the Abbey’s cautioning that makes you expect such things?”

Without looking he wrapped his fingers around one of her hands, thick smoke holding the limb in its clutches as his illusory skin almost made contact… Almost. He cocked his head as he awaited her reaction, thumb caressing where the top of her hand should be, drawing a familiar pattern onto the virginal tissue. He was made up of whispers and shadows, cursed to see but not to feel. His body sat in a prison only he roamed, a dimension that swallowed all who dared set foot in its abyssal depths. From there, his throne made up of sinister slabs of obsidian, his mind roamed the world his body had left centuries ago. An apparition, an empty thought.

* * *

The smoke may not have wrapped around her throat, or come anywhere near her lungs, but she still felt strangled by it. Amber eyes narrowed to slits, refusing to meet his gaze, instead trained on his shoulder. Her lips pursed angrily, almost in pain - struggling against the call of his touch. She hated the spark of curiosity that ate at her insides. She abhorred the influence of his will, beckoning her. Her expression, though guarded, bordered on betrayed - not quite pleading, although part of her desperately hoped he’d stop. But he was magnetic.  
  
His voice, the murmured words, pulled at her. Her eyes were dragged to his, and she bitterly prayed her glare, the fire in her, would scald him. Dark, all dark. Not only was there no humanity, even the twisted delight of his upturned lips was absent — empty, endless black. A ringing needled in her ears and her brow furrowed with even more annoyed frustration. With a great deal of effort, she tore herself away from the roar of wind and waves that had begun to swell in her mind, turning her face away forcefully.  
  
“Stop it-“ Her growled scolding was more breathless than she’d intended. Her face tingled where the smoke had licked at it, but she didn’t lift a hand to rub it away. Instead, for a moment, she resembled her childhood self; nose scrunching and lips twisting at the irritating sensation. It took only another fraction of a second to realize his cool touch on her skin, and she hurriedly pulled her hand away as well, yielding her ground, taking a single step back toward the comforting presence of her bed - one of the few things still visible in the darkness that had invaded the room.

* * *

A shiver ran through him as soon as her eyes locked with his, the fire in her stare intense enough to heat him - warm his skin, char his gaze. More; he wanted more. But as soon as she faced him, she broke away again, forced herself free from his influence. She told him to stop, her voice a low growl and features scrunched up with what could only be disgust. It took her another moment before she realised he’d been holding on to her hand as well, and she quickly pulled away from him, as if he’d been the one to burn her instead of the other way around. She’d stepped back, the air around him cooling immediately. He didn’t move, didn’t show any reaction as he assessed the situation, sizing up the frustrated woman in front of him.  
  
"Are you frightened, empress?" His voice filled the room, polluted the air like the constant stream of smog that followed him. "I see you haven’t changed much since the last time we met; I still see a silly little girl dressed in frilly white things - trying to play pretend with the grown-ups." He took a single step forward, the mist around him rippling like muddy waters, closing the distance she’d put between them. "You asked for this, did you not?" There was an underlying sense of indignation that coloured his tone, sharpened his tongue. The floor beneath them appeared to shift, the wood moaning underneath their feet. The room buzzed with an orchestra of invisible flies, the annoying hum filling the air like oxygen, entering lungs and vibrating within veins and organs alike.  
  
He crossed his hands behind his back, looming over the woman in front of him and casting a shadow that sucked the very colour from her skin. The air thickened enough for any mortal to drown in it, filled with otherworldly cinders that burned and smelled of corroded metals. He’d swallow it all, consume the very ground she walked, if only to get more - feel more.

* * *

She dared to shift her eyes to his for a fraction of a moment, just long enough to shoot him a bitter glare. Of course she was frightened: any sane person would be. It was that only _part_ of her was frightened that scared her the most. Most of her was angry - though she’d been substituting anger for fear for most of her life - and that was acceptable. But some small scrap of consciousness had sparked to life and threatened to burn away her better sense with the flame of hungry curiosity. For now she held it in check, but it gnawed at her, wondering what more could possibly come.

She tried to keep her anger at the forefront -- it wasn’t difficult. She once more found her hands idly tugging at the ruffles, torn between hating herself for choosing such a frivolous design and hating him for pointing it out. She opted to hate him.

As he stepped forward she was greeted by a sudden sense of vertigo, blood rushing to her head as sound seemed to swell and pitch, and she clenched her hands to fists to stop herself retreating again, regretting that she’d done it once already. The flush that had risen to her cheeks at his insult suddenly drained, face going pale as she struggled to stay still even as a panic stabbed through her. His words came to her from far away. " _You asked for this, did you not?"_

The air--

She didn’t move, for all that she wanted to claw it off of her, get it away from her. Her throat closed, sensing the danger in the air as it shifted. Her skin crawled and burned and crackled, and she cursed herself. He was right - of course he was right - but he must know she hadn’t _meant_ it.

Her stomach sank. _Impulsive. Stupid._ Too late to repent -- she’d really done it now. Hubris. To think she might scoff at a god, needle him, and leave unscathed? What price was she to pay? Death? Would a nice peaceful death really be that bad? No, she was lying to herself: her will to live was too strong. Just slightly stronger than her pride.

As her vision began to tunnel, she retreated again.

This time, when she stepped back, she stumbled. She shifted as she fell, managing to put herself on her knees instead of falling onto her back, then turned her head to glare at the man -- or tried to, though her sight was filled with spots. He couldn’t just give her a damned answer. All questions, constantly - as though he couldn’t speak anything that wasn’t a query, and now -- Head swimming, multicolored dots speckled her vision as a hand lifted to her throat.

* * *

She had dropped to her knees before him, and instead of following her to the ground, he remained upright, looking down on her. He started pacing, eyes locked onto her crumbled form, her hand still desperately clawing at her throat. He caught the glare she tried to throw his way, recognising the spark of fright that flickered across her pretty face - it filled the air, reeked of anxiety; fear of death.

* * *

Fingers scrabbled against her throat the longer she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes dropped to the ground, blinking, trying to keep sight of his boots as he moved, but the floor seemed to wave in and out, blackness blossoming in her vision until she was unsure if her eyes were open or closed. Her ribs ached, feeling compressed and trapped and she needed _air_ -

The soft fabric of her nightgown only emphasized the way her figure slumped, wilting, like lily of the valley, with just one hand sprawled on the ground to keep her from collapsing completely. She curled toward the floor, head bowed despite the stubborn jut of her chin. She didn’t have the energy for it, but still she shook her head weakly. As a drop of wetness hit the trembling hand that held her up, she realized she was crying. Angry, bitter tears were squeezed from eyes that could no longer see, and she grimaced to the floor, rage and fear rising like bile. She wanted to hurt him.

* * *

“My dear little empress. Do you think you ever truly left the Hound Pits behind?” He questioned, tipping his head calmly, the words rolling off his tongue awfully slow - too controlled. “I can see you’ve only changed rooms,” his eyes darted across the luxurious interior of her chamber, “not company.” He halted, his back now turned to her. His eyes were drawn to the windows, the sky barely visible through the heavy mist he’d conjured, but here and there he could spot some faraway constellations. He turned his head away again, eyes shooting back to the fallen woman, noticing the wetness that dripped from her chin, like pearls. “Sure, this one offers luxury and... privacy.” His voice dropped purposefully at the last word. “But how well do you know the people you keep close?” He circled his body around, walking back to where she rested on the floor, halting in front of her. She’d slumped over like a dirty sack of potatoes, weak. “Even your dear old father, the Royal Spymaster, keeps secrets from you.”

* * *

Another second and her other hand dropped from it’s useless scratching at her neck, finding the floor even closer, and then her forehead was on the ground, practically kowtowing. She thudded a fist weakly against the floor, her whole body feeling like empty rags. Still, once he stopped before her she made a pathetic swat at his feet, nails doing no good trying to dig through heavy boots, but trying to push and claw at him nonetheless. His words sunk into her like hot knives, and she hated to admit their truth.

* * *

He tried to read her reactions, but it was hard now that her face had dropped to the floor. His eyes scoured every inch of her instead, in search of some kind of variation, a change in her posture. She surprised him by clawing at his boots, fingernails desperately trying to grasp and graze the material. He waited a moment, using it to clear the air around them, allowing the girl in front of him to breathe again.

* * *

Just as she felt herself beginning to convulse, begging for air, she could breathe again.

With a sharp gasp she drew as much air into her as she could, trying not to cough or splutter. Her body was jelly. She blinked until her sight returned - too dark, then too bright, everything distorted until her mind could put it all back in place. As he lowered himself she glared up at him, teeth bared in a feral snarl, red-rimmed eyes murderous. With the back of one hand she wiped tears from her face so fiercely that her signet ring cut into her cheek. The next tear that trickled down brought blood to stain the cream of her nightdress.

* * *

She gasped for air immediately, her entire body shaking with the effort. Kneeling down, the noise around them faded into absolute silence. As soon as she managed to regain some control her head snapped up, revealing bared teeth and a glare that was meant to kill. The intensity burned right through him, set his insides alight. Her rage, the hatred that wrapped around her like a thick blanket, ignited an endless hunger within him. She wiped at her face, hard enough to draw blood. His eyes followed the droplet as it ran down, soiled her gown.  
  
“Don’t you worry,” he whispered almost soothingly, “I’m not here to seduce you... or to kill.” Smoky tendrils moved to caress the side of her face, stroking the red trail that ran down her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No, I’m here because I have something to offer.” He paused, narrowing his eyes as he observed her closely. “A gift.”

* * *

His sudden shift in attitude made her shiver. It was disconcerting, the change from needling at her insecurities to offering words of comfort. She winced at the otherworldly touch. It was sick, how it tugged at her gut, brought butterflies to flit about her stomach.

A gift?

No. She wanted _nothing_ from him. She wanted him to suffer and she wanted him to leave her alone. What had she been thinking, getting involved in heresy like this… This was her just punishment, but that was all. It was done. She was done with it.

...But what exactly was he offering? Whatever it was, it came with a price, she was sure.

“-” She opened her mouth to speak, but the only sound that escaped was a creak. Wetting her lips and mouth, swallowing hard, she tried again. “What do you want?” Her voice was bitter and desolate. “No more questions - answer me. What do you want?”

* * *

He watched her with interest, impressed by her fighting spirit - no, not impressed; fascinated. His eyes traced every inch of her, sucked up the sight of every little tendon that danced beneath her skin, tense with rage. She was a piece of art, a creation more illustrious than any possible painting or sculpture, too intricate to be moulded by human hands. He was aware of the small muscle that twitched within his jaw, the sight of her somehow infusing his very sinew with electricity, humming within the empty cavities that existed on the inside of him.

What he wanted? No, that was too specific. There was no set purpose, no goal for her to chase. Life, humanity, was too complex, too messy, to assign conditions to his expectations. All he wanted, all he could hope for, was a sliver of something; a fraction of feeling. He was always searching, waiting for a new high, a new flame that set his curiosity alight. And right now, she was an inferno.

He opened his mouth, taking a deep breath - a gesture that only served to distract himself from the fire that consumed him, his body incapable of processing the air. The grin that twisted his features was nothing short of predatory, his teeth bared as his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.  
  
"Don’t you see, Emily?" His eyes darted between hers before momentarily glancing down at her lips. "I just want a good show." More smoke wrapped around her, cradled her within its foul hold. "I don’t care what you do. I’m just here to watch."

* * *

If she kept her sight focused at just the right level, she could hold off the maddening song those Void eyes echoed. Still, trying to hold that soft focus shot needles of discomfort through her temples, and she found herself glaring at his mouth instead. It wasn’t a bad mouth, by mortal standards. Nothing to write home about - his lips weren’t lush, nor were they thin - but his smile, the sharp wolfish gleam of it--

Her stomach lurched as he licked his lips, the motion sending a jolt skittering over her skin and she stiffened. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but the fact that she found it even mildly palatable was the most unsettling thing about it. She looked back to his abyssal gaze just in time to see his own eyes flick to _her_ mouth. Damn it. This damned Void magic. She began listing the strictures once more in her mind.

The ethereal vapor that shrouded her licked at her skin in a manner almost sensual; a cool touch that caressed her a bit too familiarly. She clenched her jaw - _roving feet, rampant hunger, wanton flesh, errant mind, wandering gaze, lying tongue, restless hands, roving feet, rampant hunger_ \- trying to ignore its tickle over bare arms and neck. Heat crept into her cheeks again when his words, combined with the touch of the smoke, instantly reminded her of her earlier dreams -- and just minutes ago, when she’d tossed and turned; she’d so nearly fallen to the temptation then, resorted to-

\- **_errant mind, wandering gaze, lying tongue, restless hands_ ** -

She pierced him again with her glare, though as she shifted to regain some dignity in her posture, she found herself pressing knees tight together again. “Then why try to kill me?” Her voice was calm, but held a hard edge. Silk and steel. “You don’t see enough death in the rest of the world? You need to take your sick satisfaction from torturing empresses?” Any small wisps of thought she had about that aim - at least anything in the affirmative - was drowned out by the repetitive chant of strictures. She’d forgone piety in the past. She wouldn’t make that mistake again, at least not tonight.

* * *

“If I wanted to kill you,” his voice wrapped around her, slithered its way from his mouth to her cheeks, her jaw, her ears. “There would be no trying.” His eyes were mesmerised by her, his stare half-lidded and sultry. She made it hard for him to hold back, to control the raging inferno she’d helped ignite. He’d seen millions of faces, had known countless noblewomen and peasants alike. None came close, none had managed to excite him as much as she did right this moment. She just kept on going, kept on fighting. She insulted him right back, and in a way he was almost annoyed at her insolence - her unbreakable ego. But more than that he revered her spirit, the sheer will to live that ruled her.

“Torturing? Moments ago you called it seducing.” His eyes darted to her lips again, hungrily. “Am I wrong to assume they mean the same, empress?” He spoke the words with a mocking kind of innocence, the very tone twisted with carnality. “You're beautiful when you struggle,” he breathed, leaning forward, until his forehead nearly touched hers.

The room around them darkened again, but this time for a different reason. He realised he wanted to have her, claim her as his own. He decided then and there that it wouldn’t matter how long it would take him - he had centuries, she did not. He’d make her his, he’d drag her down into the madness of the Void itself and he’d hold on to her - never let her go. He’d break her down and build her up again, anew, immortal. Like him.

“Do you accept my gift, Emily?”

* * *

_“Am I wrong to assume they mean the same, empress?”_

Her throat tightened and the continuous recitation faltered for a moment. ... _Roving feet. Rampant hunger. ...Wanton flesh…_

She was mortified, and irritated about it. Her breath had been heavy from finally refilling her lungs, but now she had a feeling there was something else to it. The same something that made her skin crawl and tighten. She shifted her hips again, and immediately cursed herself for it. What was wrong with her? This was his fault, it had to be. Her seething glare shifted, an element of frustration and confusion glinting there.

_“You're beautiful when you struggle.”_

The words were -- it gave her chills. She kept herself from moving, but a shiver still teased her skin. The odd thing was… he sounded sincere. The most sincere thing he’d said to her, at least. She made the mistake of meeting that endless gaze, too confused not to, and she was snared. Whale song and ozone and static charge rushed into her. Intoxicating. Utterly intoxicating. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tried to stop the word before it tripped from the tip of her tongue. “Yes.”

“Wait-” Her eyes widened upon hearing her own consent, and she tried to lurch to her feet. “Wait, I don’t even - what is it-”

* * *

Hands of black smoke grabbed the empress before she could move, pinning her in place. His face had gone completely blank, all emotion erased like pencil strokes from paper. Only his stygian eyes reflected the last remaining flicker of feeling, shining with quiet satisfaction. He’d gotten her. There was no more way back for her, no safe retreat to the person she’d been before she’d consented. That girl was dead now, and from her corpse would rise a new empress; his empress. The air cracked with electricity, and around them he could make out the faint flicker of sparks between the black masses of clouds. A storm was coming, and he’d take her out to dance in the downpour.

His hands skilfully moved her like a marionette, pulling at her arm until the limb hung listlessly before him, wisps of smoke infecting the skin with transitory bruises - fractions of the Void. His eyes never left hers, his stare growing increasingly hollow, like gateways to another dimension. The black of his gaze leaked into the surrounding veins, drawing a pattern of thick branching arteries beneath his skin. One of his hands took hold of her outstretched one, or at least it seemed to, his skin never truly brushing hers.

“Remember what I said, empress.” His voice sounded miles away, a distant echo, amplified by the strange magic that filled the atmosphere. “How well _do_ you know the people you keep close?” He bent forward, slowly, his gaze still locked with hers. His lips brushed the skin of her hand, a fraudulent sensation - created entirely by the wanton mind. His hollow touch kindled a small fire upon her flesh, its flames charring the skin and drawing an unmistakable pattern. Perfectly sharp edges and rounded curves, the symbol was unnaturally exact. He closed his eyes for a moment, prolonging it, savouring the imaginary sensations.

Then, his eyes shot open, his lips leaving the scorched piece of her flesh.

* * *

She tried to tug away, but it was too late. Held in an inky vise she stared, the first flash of pure fear filling her eyes, and she couldn’t look away from his. She felt lightheaded, dizzy, as though she were somehow looking down from a great height, and vertigo seized her. She didn’t cry out, didn’t attempt to scream, though she was fairly sure she wouldn’t have been able to if she tried. It was like falling, dropping, plunging into open air -- she grit her teeth at the pressure and pain of shadows blooming and fading on her skin -- and then her hand was in his, and she didn’t try to fight it, and fear was tinted with curiosity, and- and it made her _want_ things --

She wouldn’t remember the words until much later. Cool lips touched her skin, her own gaze darkening, mind suddenly calming as he kept her entranced, and something under her skin burned. It seared from within, branding her, and when his eyes closed she felt it full force. Her pulse quickened, blood rushing in her ears and power surging through her veins -- _true_ power. Not the power of political leverage and position of birth. Full-on physical - metaphysical - power, the ached to be harnessed, used, _unleashed_. It was exquisite.

Her head tilted back, taking in a breath that tasted like ice and smoke and honey. Rich. Delicious. Eyelids fell, slowly, and the sigh that escaped her throat was somehow carnal. When she opened her eyes again, the stare she leveled at the Void god was black glass.

As his lips pulled away, the skin he hadn’t-quite-touched distorted, becoming pure pitch-black shadow. Something cold and dark lifted the corners of her mouth in an eerie smirk. The figure - because it wasn’t the empress, not in that moment - stepped forward as he moved away. She - it - moved closer to him than they’d been all night. As he was wrapped in Void smoke, a shadow claw caressed his cheek - _touched his skin_ \- grasped his chin with talons that pinched, and lips that were no longer entirely human pressed against his harshly, pushing his lips open, claiming his mouth. It was hungry, bordering on malicious, and ended almost as soon as it started.

Still holding his chin tight, the shadow turned his face aside, mouth trailing breath like ice over his cheek, moving to his ear. The voice that spoke was not hers. It whispered from an uninhabitable abyss, stone and open space: **_“You’re welcome.”_**

* * *

He watched as the Void consumed her, black spilling beneath her skin. When he straightened again the gaze that met his didn’t belong to the empress, he recognised the bloodthirsty stare that tore into him. A smirk twisted her features into something much more haunting, her beauty warped into animalised hideousness. He didn’t move when the Void approached him, the entity that had swallowed her wholly and corrupted her being. He closed his eyes at the sinister caress of claws, the tips dragged across his flesh, his real flesh. Archaic lips moulded against his, forced his mouth to open as something foul slithered against his tongue, brushed his teeth - consumed another piece of him, gulped down part of his consciousness. He shuddered as it whispered in his ears, malicious words of false graciousness.

It released him, and he took a single forged breath, before being sucked up by the polluted smog surrounding him, its tendrils wrapping around him before pulling him back home, back to the Void - where he would watch her with exceptional interest. The room returned to its normal state, all traces of him gone, apart from the burning mark that now decorated the empress’ hand.

* * *

Stepping back, the vicious mocking smirk flattened to a neutral expression. Smoke grew denser, reforming the human body. In another instant, the ink faded from her eyes, the empress returning. As the Outsider was swallowed by the dark, she blinked gradually clearing eyes, a sharp curiosity dawning in them as she stared at the mark on her hand.

And then he was gone. And she was alone. And, despite the dread that clung to the back of her mind with the echo of a warning, a feeling that would surely haunt her in the morning; she smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You’re jealous._  
>  The thought popped into her head without warning, and she immediately denied it. Ridiculous. No. Of her father? For what? She hadn’t _wanted_ the Outsider’s attention, she’d just gotten it.  
>  _You asked for it. You called him. He answered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _This section's a bit all over the place, just be aware double bars are in there to separate when Hirvi goes from Corvo to the Outsider, and centered dash lines are for separating time. ...I would hope this is obvious in context, but in case it isn't, there you go. And yes; Corvo appeared. Hirvitank wrote Corvo and the Outsider, I wrote Emily. Enjoy the melodrama._  
>  \- OWT

It was the most pleasant night’s sleep she’d had all week. It was only once she woke, and spotted the curves of black on the back of her hand, that she seemed to fully realize what she had done. She didn’t panic. Laying in bed, she poised her hand above her, studying the partial rings and points of the Outsider’s mark contemplatively. Flexing her fingers, she felt power ripple down her arm. What secrets did this so-called ‘gift’ hold?

Her hand was quickly hidden beneath her pillow as a sharp rapping came on the door to her chambers: her morning wake-up call. Later, then. Cancel afternoon meetings, take some time alone- Suddenly she frowned, realizing what a close call she’d just had. If she’d had one of the other tower servants - or her father - they may have even entered her chambers, seen the symbol emblazoned on her skin. She’d need to find some way to hide the mark for the rest of the day. _For the rest of my life?_ Her mind immediately flashed to the wrap on Corvo’s hand, and once more she soured. The Outsider had so smoothly avoided her accusation, instead sweeping her along in a tide of questions and sensations that had made her feel incredibly uneasy. He’d never confirmed her theories about her father’s actions during the rat plague. ...And he’d never addressed his apparent propensity for seduction.

_You’re jealous._

The thought popped into her head without warning, and she immediately denied it. Ridiculous. No. Of her father? For what? She hadn’t _wanted_ the Outsider’s attention, she’d just gotten it.

_You asked for it. You called him. He answered._

There was pounding on the door now. “Your Imperial Majesty.”

Emily sat up, putting the god from her mind. Imperial duties awaited. All thoughts of smoke and static and endless eyes would have to wait.

* * *

_\---------_

Corvo rubbed his face as he made his way to the empress’ quarters, his hand rubbing along prickly stubble. To say he’d had a rough night wouldn’t so much as begin to cover it. He’d had an especially awful night, the likes of which hadn’t bothered him since the rat plague held the city in its eroding clutches. The hidden mark on his hand throbbed, and he knew it could only mean a single thing. He’d been visited again, augural darkness sweeping over his dreams like storm clouds rolling in. It had been _her_ screams that had woken him, had pulled him from the torture of endless nightmares.

He sighed into the palm of his hand, his eyes closing for a moment, his lids unbearably heavy with exhaustion. He was too old for this, too jaded to encompass the scope of emotions appropriate for his situation.

He’d watched the same thing again and again, the knife that drew blood, punctured tender flesh and ripped apart all he held dear. His dear Jessamine, bleeding out in his arms, eyes staring up at him unseeingly. His heart would tremble with agony, the palpitations making him light headed as time flowed to a stop around him. He’d be there, watching him. Always watching. His endless gaze empty and his face blank, uncaring.

Corvo shook his head, trying to shake away the cold that had crept up his spine. It was over. He’d gotten his little girl back and he’d cleared his name. The plague had long been dealt with, and Jessamine had gotten her justice. There was no use lingering in the past, things he could never take back or change. He had a job to do, and even though he felt as if he might keel over any minute, he vowed to protect his daughter to the best of his abilities. He always would.

But the throbbing of his hand filled him with an eerie sense of dread, like a warning. Somehow he suspected something was up. The god of the Void hadn’t bothered him since then, since the dark days. Why had he returned? What had drawn him back here? His hand left his face as he approached the door to her office, his mind trying its best to shake the ominous sense of foreboding.

Knuckles rapped against the polished wood, waiting for her to reply, as he always did. His eyes lingered on the wraps that covered the limb, almost wary of it, as if the mark might burn straight through the thick material. He held his breath as he waited, the air around her office somehow different, somehow thicker… As if it hadn’t been stirred for centuries.

Something was definitely up, and he wondered what the Outsider could possibly want from him this time.

* * *

_How well_ do _you know the people you keep close?_

His words were haunting her. As soon as she’d left the meeting with the visiting delegation from Morley the words had crept into her mind - echoing, continuous, and she was finding it hard to concentrate on the letters she read. All repetition, things she’d already been briefed on, and yet the papers littered her desk. She didn’t miss the irony of the most recurring themes: complaints about whale oil rationing and invitations to lavish parties. Emily practically snorted. Nobility.

She slumped back in her seat - in a very un-empresslike way - gloved hands toying with the edge of an invitation. She thought she might find a better solution than just gloves, but if she bandaged it they’d want her to see a doctor. Gloves at least could be an aesthetic choice.

The knock at her door was firm, quick, efficient. Familiar. With a sigh, she ran an open hand over the layers of paper on her desk-- and nearly swallowed her tongue. That… that was not what the world looked like. Everything bathed in a murky monotone light, shifting her sight to see hard outlines more than details. Was this the gift? Some new way of seeing? Glancing around, she froze.

Her assumption had been correct, it seemed. Because the figure on the other side of the door was most assuredly her father. What’s more, that hand - the one he always wrapped, the one she’d seen tattooed as a child; it glowed. Ridges of light formed a pattern that was becoming all too familiar. Glancing to her own hand, her heart skipped a beat seeing an identical display for just a moment before the effect stopped.

So was it true, then? Her father had called on the Void god? But then did that mean-

Her stomach lurched, remembering the night before. The way he’d slipped the sleeve of her nightgown down her shoulder. _You're beautiful when you struggle._ She felt nauseous. If her father- and right after Mother was murdered…

She resorted to her coping mechanism of the night before, this time under her breath.

“ _Wandering gaze, lying tongue, restless hands-_ \- Come in.” She pulled an invitation from the pile, holding it in her lap to read, trying to keep her gloved hands out of her father’s scrutinizing sight. Her mind dutifully continued its pious work. _Roving feet, rampant hunger, wanton flesh, errant mind._

* * *

He knew something was terribly wrong as soon as he set foot inside, the air buzzing with remnants of something sinister. His eyes found his daughter seated behind her desk, eyes focused on a piece of paper that stuck out from where she held it in her lap. At first glance nothing appeared to be off; just Emily working - like always. Her expression was calm enough to fool him, but somehow his hand burned more feverishly in her presence.

“Good afternoon,” he grunted as he took his usual place in front of her, pulling out a chair nearby. His eyes inspected her closely, his demeanour purposefully casual. He rested an elbow on the arm of his seat, leaning his head against his hand as his fingers covered his lips. It couldn’t be that the god had spoken to her too, could it? He knew the Outsider appeared to only a scarce amount of people, what would be the odds of him speaking to both father and daughter? The chances were astronomically small. Besides, why would he even be interested in his little girl?

A nagging voice reminded him of the days at the Hound Pits, little Emily bringing him a rune, telling him of bad dreams… Could it be that he had already spoken to her then? He knew she wasn’t marked, had never been at least. Her hand had been devoid of the god’s scald, unlike his. Could it be that he had come back to mark her as well - and if so, why? Why now? His eyes traveled to her hands, finding they had been obscured from his view, carefully hidden beneath the desk. Was she hiding them on purpose? His heart staggered at the thought, droplets of sweat forming at the nape of his neck.

Had the Outsider corrupted his child?

* * *

She managed a small wry smile to her father. “I’ll bet my crown you can’t guess how many families have planned events specifically to woo the Morleyans.” It was hard not to feel comforted around Corvo - he was her Protector, after all - and she felt some of the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding start to ease a bit. He seemed to hum now. More than just the general sense of safety she felt in his presence, there was a physical sensation. It was kind of nice. Sincerity edged on to her lips at the thought of it.

But she should ask him. Should she ask him? She wanted to know. _He_ might not want to know. Maybe she could dig elsewhere. Who might know, though? Her father was a quiet man. Any secrets he had would never leak. She doubted anyone knew them.

Curiously, hands under the table, she tried to recreate the gesture of before. Once more her vision shifted, and this time she was expecting it. It was still odd, seeing her father through the wood of the desk. Seeing the mark on him leave a light trail whenever he so much as twitched. She glanced at the letter again before he might notice her staring.

Oh this was impossible. There was no way she could read the small carefully calligraphed handwriting in this lighting. She squinted for a moment before her vision adjusted to normal again.

* * *

There was nothing in her behaviour that suggested anything might be up, her smile as comfortable as always when directed at him. Still, he couldn’t shake the strange thrum that filled the air. Like… like the tell-tale song of runes and bone charms. It purred against his skin, licked at his marked hand and wrapped it in static. It was distracting, and he found himself rubbing the patch of skin against the inside of his leg unconsciously.

“You shouldn’t bet your crown, Em. It was expensive,” he mumbled absentmindedly, his eyes glazing over as he tried to sense the source of the vibrato that set his hairs on end.

She’d tell him, wouldn’t she? They always confided in each other, told each other everything… His eyes darted towards the hand he held in his lap - almost everything. Truthfully, it was she who confided in him most of the time. But he’d always been a good listener, a helpful support. She’d given him the rune willingly then, hadn’t lied about it - she wouldn’t lie about it now, would she?

“About the Morleyans, you have an audience planned with that blabbermouth of a representative.” Corvo loathed the quirky little man. He had never been much of a talker, hence he wasn’t keen on striking up any sort of conversation with the annoying loudmouth they’d sent their way. Luckily his daughter did all the talking, he was just there to keep watch.

* * *

A grin slowly grew at his comment, but she quickly pursed her lips, trying to hide it and failing, aware that he was attempting to discuss actual matters of state.

She wondered what else this new gift might do. Based on what she’d felt the night before, it was far more than just vision-altering. She started to wiggle her fingers absently before remembering that it was a gesture that triggered the first one, so perhaps she should be more careful. Her hand stilled, but the other traced a circle over and over again where the mark was.

She kept her eyes on her father, ignoring his reminder. “The answer is eleven. They’re only here for nine days.” That would be a fun and exciting decorum puzzle, wouldn’t it? Which noble family would be so tactfully shafted?

* * *

He raised an eyebrow at her pursed lips; a bad attempt at hiding her amusement. He couldn’t help but notice her slight fidgeting, the fabric of her clothes moving almost unnoticeably. He felt slow, his limbs and eyes heavy with sleep. Perhaps that was why the air around him seemed to crackle against his skin

“Have you considered their offer yet?” He ducked his chin, watching her from beneath his eyebrows, knowing she was just trying to distract him from the matters at hand. He knew his daughter well enough to recognise when she was troubled, and the Morley affair had troubled her - a lot. She’d been out on the streets at night again, roaming Dunwall in the cloak of darkness. He hadn’t reprimanded her for her inappropriate excursions just yet, eager to see her work through her worries on her own. But he was growing increasingly weary of her adventures, watching her stray a little further each time. One time he’d lost sight of her, and she’d been visibly shaken when she’d returned to the Tower. He hadn’t asked her about it, not wanting her to know he followed her everywhere she went.

But still…

No. She seemed fine right now. He was just tired.

* * *

The smile faded from her lips, brow furrowing for a moment. Ah yes. The Morley proposal. She avoided his gaze, folding the corner of the paper in her hand instead. Not a word was uttered, but it wasn’t for lack of opinions. Gradually she shook her head. “Nine days isn’t enough time.” There was a hollowness to her voice, too aware that pleading would do no good. She’d just be pleading with herself. No one would make the decision for her, and the right choice for the empire was glaringly obvious.

“I’m too young.” Rarely did the empress mumble, but now she sounded like a pouting child. Drawing into herself, protectively, anxiously, she voiced just a touch of her worry. It hadn’t seemed that serious at first, the letters from Morley. But the delegation had confirmed it. They wanted an alliance, sealed by marriage. The eastern kingdom could be formidable at times, and when irritated made a very vocal opponent to her rule. Quieting their dissent with a political marriage wasn’t a bad idea. But _marriage_.

Head bowed, raising the invitation closer to her concerned face, she began to roll the thick paper - crushing it, mutilating it in hands that had to fidget. “...How did Mother avoid messes like this…”

* * *

Corvo’s gaze softened at his daughter, who had always been ahead of her age - forced to grow up too quickly, yet somehow never lamenting her fate. For the first time in a long time, she felt like that little girl again, the one that greeted him with big hugs and demanded him to play hide and seek with her.

His hands rubbed at his face once more. He really was getting old, he realised. "Your mother, she..." When the limbs left his face, his eyes caught sight of something peculiar. His daughter’s hands, gloved? His heart stuttered. "You never wear gloves." It was a statement, not a question. He knew his daughter like the back of his hand, and right now it throbbed and burned - something was definitely off. His eyes narrowed to slits, his gaze flicking between her face and the strange gloves she had taken to wearing. "Em?" His tone was demanding, dripping with warning.

* * *

Her heart leapt into her throat, but she kept her face calm, still wringing the paper in the hands her father now watched with hard-edged caution. Lips pursed and she frowned at him, redirecting his concern, aided with a touch of guilting. “What, I’m not allowed to dress myself, either? All my decisions have to be discussed and approved and done for the good of the empire?”

* * *

She was evasive, that only raised his suspicion, his eyebrows knitting together. He’d be proud of her diplomatic way of handling private matters, had it not been at his expense.

"Preferably, yes." He cocked his head, unconsciously leaning closer toward her. He had to outsmart her, something that wasn’t easy. Corvo had always been straightforward, no games. "Take them off."

* * *

She wasn’t scared of her father but… she was scared of her father. And after nights of troubled sleep and that warning that had wormed its way into her head - _how well_ do _you know the people you keep close?_ \- she was on the verge of paranoia. Nervous energy surged into her limbs and she shot to her feet, gaining the height advantage, piercing him with a glare. When she pointed an accusatory finger at him, she made sure it was with her right hand. She didn’t shout, but her hissed words were sharp. “ _You overstep your bounds Royal Protector._ ”

* * *

Corvo took the challenge immediately, his anger flaring at his daughter’s refusal to cooperate. He rose from his chair, now towering over the young empress. "And _you’re_ unusually defensive, Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin." He grit his teeth, the mark on his hand searing his flesh, burning hot white.

* * *

She glared at him, poised not _quite_ holding her hands behind her back - not quite so childish and obvious -  but stanced at the ready so they were well out of the way. The room seemed tense with an electrical energy that thrilled her even in her anger. Her eyes flicked to where his mark hid under wraps, glancing for only a fraction of a second before she glared at him again. “I am your Empress -- you will respect my autonomy, and my authority, and _you will obey me_.” She harnessed every ounce of imperiousness she could muster.

* * *

He was taken by surprise at her assertiveness, and he knew when to stop poking a bloodfly’s nest. Corvo raised his hands in surrender, shaking his head at the empress before him. "Alright, Em." She couldn’t wear those gloves forever, he’d find out sooner or later. If the Outsider visited his dreams again, he’d make sure to ask - though he expected no answer, not from him. There was a final method he knew she’d used on him too - manipulative as she was. "No need to take it out on your old man, I trust you."

This was her final chance to confide in him, her outburst all but confirming she had something to hide. If she didn’t, he knew he’d have to watch her every move.

* * *

She raised her chin as he acquiesced, an angry satisfaction catching her in its grip. Her lip curled slightly, not quite sneering. “Do you?” She stared straight into his eyes, like an animal, asserting her dominance, and held his gaze for one long moment. Content with the heavy silence, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, tossing the mutilated letter onto the desk with the rest of them.

Once she’d slammed the door behind her, she swept her hand again, glancing around and very briefly stumbling over her feet as she spotted silhouettes through the floor below her. None within earshot - and moving away, she could see where they faced - so she let herself barge into her quarters again. Twisting the lock behind her, she was at the foot of the bed before she’d even torn the key from around her neck. A click, a slide, and she held the rune in hand, the symbol on her skin seeming to hum in harmony with it.

She was about to open her mouth, about to call to the god, when the night before came back to her in a rush.

_Are you mad? He will_ kill _you._

_Torture_ , she quickly corrected herself, wryly. _He likes that better, apparently._

Losing the wind from her sails, she tossed the rune onto her bed. No, no, this wasn’t a good idea. Don’t call gods in just because you can. If last night was anything to go by, another meeting would be… eventful. And would offer no answers whatsoever. Besides which, it was only mid afternoon, and the Outsider seemed more the sort to see at - well, at the witching hour.

She took a breath, calming herself. Ever since getting this cursed carved thing, she’d felt a bit more impetuous. She thought through her options as she lifted the rune more carefully, placing it back in the drawer and sealing it up once more. Answers. How had her father gotten the mark, how did the mark work, what in the world had occurred between her father and the Void god-- she winced.

If she asked the Outsider, she would be tormented and, in all likelihood, learn nothing. But… but he wasn’t the only one who could help her. And if she trusted no one else…

Less than three minutes after she’d left, Emily stormed back in to her office, slamming the door once more. With a determined jaw and eyes that didn’t leave their target, she walked straight to her father and grabbed his hand. She wouldn’t let him wrench away if he tried, so intent she was on tugging the wrappings away.

* * *

He was surprised when she stormed off in anger, the door slammed with a force unbefitting for... a pair of gloves. It wasn’t as if he invaded her privacy by inquiring about the sudden fashion choice, was it? Corvo covered his face with his hands again, releasing a sigh into his palms, eyes closing.

Women... The image of an angry Jessamine danced behind his closed lids, and he knew exactly who Emily had inherited her temper from. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at the crumpled piece of paper, bemoaning its unfortunate fate. He felt the heavy pull of exhaustion once more, and he wondered if maybe his lack of proper sleep had put him on edge. Perhaps he had been a bit too stern...

He was startled when Emily barged back in, closing in on him with determined steps. She’d grabbed his hand, and he was about to protest when she started pulling the wraps, her sharp fingernails grazing his dusky skin.

"Em!" It was all he managed to get out before the wraps fell to the floor, revealing the inky pattern that permanently stained his flesh.

* * *

Once the symbol was revealed, Emily stopped. She’d known, in theory, that it was there, but seeing it as more than just a glow… She paused, train of thought lost, as she traced delicate fingers over the mark. The hand didn’t even seem to belong to her father, wrapped for so long the skin paled in comparison to the rest of him. Oddly soft, too. And the mark stood out far sharper than she’d expect for something (she assumed) he’d gotten over ten years ago.

But how to approach the topic… So many questions bubbled to mind, she couldn’t sort them out. Finally, she settled on, “Why did you call him?”

It wasn’t an accusation. If anything, her tone was almost sad. Or maybe pleading. She wasn’t sure how she felt, but part of her thought if only he had trusted in his own skills… Then what? How would things have been different? She trusted that her father could’ve saved her without any kind of otherworldly help. But he’d gotten it. And maybe, because he had, regardless of whatever he had to give up to the Outsider, he could help her now.

In some part of her mind, Emily felt annoyed with the god. After everything Corvo had been through in prison - more torture? Really? _...Heartless black-eyed bastard._  

* * *

The anger he felt at his daughter’s actions quickly dissipated when he noticed the tortured look in her eyes, the almost disappointed waver of her voice. What had happened to her? So many questions ran through his mind, and he was torn on whether to answer hers or to demand she answer his instead.

His eyes were drawn back to her hands, the gloves soft against his skin. There was no more doubt in his mind about what she might be hiding beneath the silky fabric - not now that she traced the occult pattern that tainted his skin with forlorn strokes, her fingers lingering in a silent recognition.

His heart broke for her, as it had so many times before… She’d come back on her own, and he knew better than to drive her away again. So with a weary sigh and tired eyes, his hand turned to take a hold of hers, gently squeezing the delicate limb with his callous one. His gaze met hers, and in her features he still saw that same little girl; the one that had ascribed her nightmares to him, had offered him the strange piece of carved bone.

“I was chosen, Em,” his other hand moved to cup her face, his weathered thumb tracing the soft skin of her cheek, “I accepted it to save you.”

* * *

“...Chosen?” Some of the color had drained from her face. She’d made a huge mistake. A bigger mistake than she’d initially realized. Corvo was a reasonable man, with a great deal of restraint and discipline, gifted with abilities to help him do the right thing (though it was hard to imagine the Outsider she’d met the night before being so magnanimous). Emily was a 22 year old who’d dared to laugh in the face of a god, and this… this didn’t feel like a gift. She couldn’t help but feel when she’d said yes she’d let something very very wrong into her world.

* * *

He watched her skin turn pallid, her eyes widening as something seemed to hit her, lips parting in silent shock. Somehow he knew instantly that she had not been expecting this answer, which led him to believe that - if she had not been chosen - she must have called upon the ancient god herself. And if he remembered correctly, the Outsider more often than not refused to show.

_...But if he really wants to meet me, he could start by being a bit more interesting..._

Something cold and vicious crept up his spine, sweat starting to pebble his weathered skin. This was wrong, this was all wrong.

He released her hand, both of his hands now cupping her face and holding her, cradling his daughter. “Emily… what have you done?” He was breathless, fear closing his throat and choking out his voice.

* * *

She glanced at the floor. “I’m fine,” she tried to reassure him, but even she winced at the obvious lie. Her tone softened even more, hands clasped nervously together. “I’ll _be_ fine.” If _he’d_ survived it, maybe she… _You’ll go mad_ , her mind whispered, the fear so calmly presented that it was almost unsettling how willing she was to accept that inevitability. _He will drive you mad_.

“So-” She hesitated for a moment, and finally met her father’s gaze again. “Just the once, then.” There was something desperate in her, pleading him for… something. “He gave it to you, he left, no strings attached? No-” she faltered, feeling a traitorous blush choking her. “-no-” _No come-ons? No whispered breath on your neck? No fights for power?_ “-games?” She managed, finally. She tried to tell herself that she was trying to predict her own future, that her hope for an affirmative answer was because she _herself_ didn’t want to see him again. Not because she worried her father had.

* * *

As if Corvo’s blood pressure hadn’t been skyrocketing already, he was certain her words would send it straight through the tower’s roof. His hands lowered to rest on her shoulders, holding on to her with all his might, as if that might do anything to change what he suspected might have already happened. “Emily, what in the Void are you talking about?” He couldn’t keep the indignation from his tone, the thought that the old god might have tricked his daughter into doing anything unbefitting for an empress - no, his child… “Games? Strings? He’s the Outsider, not a damn courtesan!” His eyes almost bulged from their sockets as his own words sunk in. “Did he touch you?”

* * *

She knew she was blushing. It only got worse when he made assumptions that took things far further than she’d meant. “No!” She quickly held up her hands defensively - a quick motion - as though it might calm him, feeling a brief itch in her palm. “No - well, I mean, besides the mark, no. ...Not really…” She trailed off, eyes over her father’s shoulder. “It- …what...”

Her brow furrowed at first, in utter confusion, but then the shock hit her. The thing that hung in the air was too much of the Void. It made her stomach flip, looking at it - jagged crystalline shards that twitched and shifted, humming eerily. She felt as she had the one time she’d managed to go out on the open ocean, cresting a wave. It was as unpleasant as it was exhilarating. The warping thing made her think of a door, almost, and something in her was deathly curious to know what was beyond it - but that part was small and easily contained. She looked to her hand. Did he do this? Did _she_ do this? It was unnatural.

* * *

* * *

She’d been getting used to her newly acquired powers, and it had been an absolute joy to watch. Not only had she surprised the Outsider with the rune - and he didn’t mind admitting he’d been a tad disappointed when she didn’t pull through whatever she had planned with it - she’d also been bold enough to use her magic in the presence of her very own father. Of course Corvo would know something was up, his mark would burn and itch whenever he would find himself in close proximity to another marked one; magic tended to leave behind certain traces, emit certain frequencies. They were like magnets, their magical fields currently melding together and blending energy.

First she’d used her Vision, and he’d been surprised Corvo hadn’t taken notice right away. The man was truly getting older, his senses fading, dwindling like a blunted blade.

But now, now she’d used another power. This time on accident. He found himself drawn to the scene, somehow unable to keep from interfering. He slowly circled the stupefied elder, and Emily had yet to notice his presence. He tilted his head as he observed Corvo, knowing full well the elder would remember nothing of what was to happen around him. Then his eyes traveled towards Emily, the empress, her eyes staring at her hand. He walked up to her with non-existent steps, his boots never making a sound as they ghosted across the floor. He halted at her side, his chin above her right shoulder, his gaze caressing the side of her neck.

“You really should be more careful with that, my dear empress.” His words flowed across her skin, traced the flesh in an attempt to taste her, and he found himself licking his lips again in her presence.

* * *

Emily frowned with concern at her hand. She didn’t _think_ she’d done anything, but that object, that- whatever it was-

As she glanced up to look at it again - where it shifted and shimmered, somehow holding her father seemingly deaf and dumb - she nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled on the spot, bringing an arm up and dropping back to guard against attack, for a fraction of a second wishing she had a blade on her before she recognized him. She swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, and straightened slightly, though she still remained on the balls of her feet, on guard.

“What did you do to him?” She asked quietly, half curiosity and half accusation, as she shifted to keep both men in her field of view. Before the god could answer, she hurriedly added, “Don’t punish him for my mistakes, if you favored him - he didn’t tell me to go out and steal the rune, that was all me - don’t take it out on him.” She didn’t entirely know how this whole chosen business worked, but she wasn’t about to let her father take the fall for her, not after all he’d been through for her sake.

* * *

He frowned as if hurt by her words, the expression dripping with insincerity. "Why must you always assume the worst of me?" His eyes were drawn back to her father, who remained enraptured by the floating structure before him. His lips twisted into a wicked smile as he regarded the elder, helplessly hypnotised by the magic conjured by his own flesh and blood - his daughter who suddenly took on the role of martyr. He wondered why - and how much it truly hurt her to do so.

"But you know, Emily, if you’re jealous of having to share my attention with your father," his gaze returned to her, smile still in place, "I’d be happy to take you up on the offer." He took a single step forward, hovering over her in a way that would have looked menacing to anyone else - but he knew her better by now. So his voice dropped, the same husky quality it had possessed the night before returning full force. He met her gaze with half-lidded eyes, their dark depths dancing with hunger. "Do you want to be punished?"

* * *

_"Why must you always assume the worst of me?"_

_Because you’re a monster._ His sarcasm was palpable, and she found irritation creeping up on her. Here she was, her father having informed her he had been _chosen by a god_ , and then - and the night before, it had felt like a dream, and - and - it was just so confusing! So she’d thought she might defend her father, let him remain a separate entity, favored by the god instead of picked out for specialized torment. ...How wrong she’d been. Watching him, her face - previously sharp but supplicant - grew shuttered, guarding her expression. He was almost… playful.

...She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

At least she felt assured of her reading of her own situation. _Specialized torment._

_"...if you’re jealous of having to share my attention with your father..."_

She broke eye contact, lips pursing as she looked away, skin prickling as her cheeks went pink. She’d thought it herself and fervently denied it, but from his lips it seemed mortifying. At least she knew - or she thought she knew - he hadn’t been toying with Corvo the way he had with her. Batting at her with paws that sent her tumbling end over end.

She felt his eyes on her, like a black hole, and she glanced toward the gravity, pulling herself up as he stepped closer. Chin up, shoulders back; a regal posture she had down to an art. It was how she’d grown to face her fears. Head on, a challenge in her eyes. Every inch an empress. ...There were times her crown was the only thing keeping her strong. Hopefully this would not be one of those times. Still, power bolstered her confidence, and in that moment it was appreciated.

She fought to keep her eyes open even as she wanted to close them, to escape that look - like bared teeth, snapping. She felt like an animal, treed. And there he waited, knowing he had her, that he would inevitably succeed. It was just a matter of time. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Anger. Always anger was her defense, even as his voice made her toes curl in her boots, muscles tightening in one brief and unintentional spasm, causing the smallest despicable jolt forward. _Traitor_ , she thought at herself, covering the movement with a glare. She didn’t even acknowledge his query. She wouldn’t; it didn’t deserve to be addressed. “Do you even understand the concept of answers?” How she kept her voice so even, so smooth, she wasn’t sure. “You ignored my question. What did you do to him?” She wasn’t entirely sure if she was asking in regard to the Void artefact hovering in the air, or to the unexplained history of her father’s time during the rat plague. She just wanted to _know_. She wanted things to make sense. But around him - in the presence of the Outsider - everything became chaos. Chaos and denial and shame and want and frustration. A storm that roiled under her skin, now shot through with veins of power that crackled like static electricity. The mark burned.

* * *

“For someone complaining about answers,” his eyes took in the delicious way her back straightened at her imperial command, her shoulders pulled backwards in a blatant attempt at dominance, “you’re doing a good job of avoiding them yourself, your Majesty.” The last words were hissed against her skin, his feet carrying him around her, circling her like a vulture. His eyes drank in the savory anger that blazed in her eyes - the defiance that continued to fuel her fight - before they disappeared from his sight as he passed behind her.

“But I understand the human need for lucidity - so I’ll have you know I didn’t do anything to him,” he pouted, like a disappointed child, before another hungry grin split across his features, “but there’s plenty I would love to do to you,” he stopped at the other side of her, face close to her neck again as he whispered into her ear, “Emily.”

Smokey tendrils lifted up to wrap around her, brush against her wherever they could reach, until she was cloaked in a soft layer of obsidian haze - the substance moving and pulsing against her skin as would his breath.

* * *

She fought, trying to stay unreadable, trying not to twitch or blink or even _breathe_ until he’d moved out of eyesight. Once the corner of her eye was clear she let heavy eyelids close, a brief reprieve from the unyielding intensity that was his gaze. She told herself that she didn’t respond to his retort because it wasn’t warranted, but in truth she wasn’t sure she’d have been able if she wanted to. She wanted to flinch away from his words, his breath, his touch, but that would be showing weakness. She could show no weakness.

But she _was_ weak.

_“But I understand the human need for lucidity-”_

Her desire to roll her eyes very nearly overpowered her fear of him. Perhaps his derision was justified, with centuries of observation, but still. As he went on, though…

_“...but there’s plenty I would love to do to you... Emily.”_

Her muscles felt strained, quivering, knees turning to jelly as her name left his lips and hummed over her skin. Her throat was tight, and she swallowed hard, unknowingly squeezing her eyes shut tight, as though by not seeing it it wouldn’t be happening. Her hands balled into tight fists at her sides, and she pinched her lips between her teeth to stop from making any noise she might regret.

It was like sheer adrenaline. Like she’d just run from the city watch, clambering madly over rooftops, across pipes and through alleyways. Her pulse was quick and loud, every beat screaming that she was _letting him win_. Trapped, wrapped in echoes of the Void that held her tight - almost too tight - she felt cocooned, swaddled, with some mockery of loving comfort. She was dizzy, claustrophobic, and it took everything in her to pull away. But pull away she did.

Stumbling forward, she forced eyes open and quickly whirled on the god. “Don’t _do_ that- I don’t-” Her voice was too weak to her own ears, snapping almost sluggishly, as though she tried to push him away while entrenched in honey. She shook her head, trying to clear the smoke that fogged her mind, blinking until her gaze grew sharp once more, and she was able to pierce him with a glare. “I’m- I’m not some toy for your little games.” It infuriated her that he was capable of such… intimate manipulation. That he seemed able to turn her whole body against her.

* * *

He sent her a charming smile, the kind that most normal people would reserve for greeting nobility or other high ranking folk, perfectly moral and refined - a mask he knew how to abuse flawlessly - before his hands followed the dark wisps he had beckoned. They hovered above the fabric of her gloves, invisible forces pulling them towards him, removing the silky material off her skin, slowly, almost sensually.

He imagined other articles of clothing he could remove in a similar manner, the way they would slide across her olive skin - the thought sent a jolt of hot electricity up his spine, sparking his cold muscles and stiff tendons, the very sinew sizzling from the current. He glanced down, catching the jagged edges of his mark as he slowly revealed the occult pattern he’d engraved on her perfect skin - the sight of it heightening his rapture.

He leaned in, eyes staring into hers covetously. “No, you’re no toy, Your Majesty,” he hissed the words with longing, his lips ghosting over hers, whispering words against them; “You’re the prize.” And just as he was about to close the distance, his skin dissolved into black smoke, billowing across her features in a dense mist. Just like that, his presence wafted from the room, subtle traces of him still lingering in the air.

* * *

She was all too much reminded of the dreams - the ones that hadn’t quite been nightmares. Her fingers twitched, wanting to pull away, but part of her wondered what exactly he was doing. As always, she was conflicted about him. Too curious for her own good and too angry to give in. And just the sensation of the smoke on her skin - every time, _every single time_ \- was dangerously intoxicating.  She followed as he looked down, and as the symbol - his mark, his _brand_ \- slipped into view she felt her flesh break out in goosebumps.

Her gaze shot up as he leaned toward her, and stopped her breath cold rather than let him hear her gasp. Noises died in her throat before she could release them. Her eyes burned with a wary hunger, tilting her face up to his. She met his gaze head on, even if the endless depths threatened to swallow her whole. There was a single moment, an electrifying moment, where his words flowed like silk over her skin, the syllables of his praise twining around her neck and down her arms and curling over her chest, her waist, her hips - she fought to keep her eyes open, grown heavy with something sweet and heady, and found her lips parting, almost invitingly—

And then he was gone. Once he was out of sight, she let the thin moan escape her throat, knees buckling as she grasped the edge of her desk. It was - he was - just overwhelming. She rubbed the back of her hand against her lips, as though she might purge his presence from them, and glanced up--

“Dad, I-“ Her eyes went wide, staring at a father who seemed to have broken free of the spell more than a few seconds ago. She choked, at a loss for words.

* * *

* * *

One moment the world had faded to black, the next, his vision had been drowned in red. The only feeling that stood out enough for him to be able to name it was rage, the kind of rage that froze you into place, wrapping you in its icy hold until your already boiling blood completely turned to ice. Corvo was livid, but not at his daughter - not per say, at least. No, there was a much bigger culprit in this utter and complete mess; that damned black-eyed bastard. He was toying with them - no, torturing _him_. First the nightmares, now his daughter. What had he done to deserve the God’s scorn? He had become cognisant in time to watch the God of the Void seduce his daughter, his only child His eyes had seen enough to know, his ears tortured by the delicate moan the demon had pulled from her throat with words too derelict to grace the ears of an empress. She’d turned to him after that, had tried to reach out for him before choking up.

"Emily, dear, are you alright?" He quickly moved from where he’d been frozen in place, his limbs feeling strange and unfamiliar. "What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?” He’d get the black eyed bastard for this! He wouldn’t have him use his daughter to get to him. Tonight he’d get to the bottom of this mess, make sure his little girl would stay safe. He’d summon the God and demand answers, demand he leave his daughter be. If it was him he wanted, he’d do anything to keep her from harm’s way. “What has the Outsider been doing to you?” His voice shuddered with rage as his eyes darted across his daughter without focus, his mind racing with indistinguishable thoughts - until they spotted a familiar pattern, drawn in black. His hands had reacted before his mind had been able to catch up, his body several steps ahead. They wrapped around his daughter’s, now freed of their gloves, revealing the heretical brand that had decorated his skin for a decade now. His eyes shot between the mark and her face, his mouth agape as he found himself at a loss for words. He’d known it, hadn’t he? He’d been suspicious this entire time… Why then did he still feel so aghast?

* * *

Emily was blushing, she was well aware of that, and her father’s eager protective questions made guilt churn in the pit of her stomach. For all she could tell Corvo was upset, his anger - his anxiety - wasn’t directed at her. But part of her felt - part of her _knew_ \- it should be. She’d been the one to draw the Outsider’s attention. She’d tempted fate and then had the gall to be surprised when it came knocking.

“I’m-“ Her voice was half mumble, still shaken by that moment of smoke across her lips. “He-” She was about to say he had never hurt her, but her mind very quickly flashed back to the smoke that had choked her lungs and she realized that would be a lie. “It’s-” She tried again, but once more was left speechless, shaking her head. Even with him gone she felt the thrilling shudder he’d sent through her, and it was hard to focus on anything else.

Closing her eyes tight for a moment, trying to clear her head, she let her father’s hands take hers, the warmth of them bringing her back to herself a bit. Swallowing down every swooning instinct, she cleared her throat. “It was my fault.” She wanted to tell him everything - or, well, almost everything - but she couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on her, and nowhere seemed private enough. “I-” She felt like an idiot. “I did it as a joke, I didn’t realize that he’d actually respond. I thought it was just- I don’t know. Superstition, I guess.” She shrugged lamely. “But then he…” Her chest tightened, remembering every tense moment, every brush and breath on her skin. Her breath was just a bit too shallow, her eyes just a bit too dark, as she flexed her marked hand. “I said yes before I realized what I was doing. And now… and now I have this.”

* * *

The realisation that it wasn’t him who had warranted the Outsider’s scorn hit him like the blunt edge of a blade, and experience had already taught him the pain of it. He waited for her to finish, for her to explain just what had happened, but it seemed she had been too shaken - too disturbed - to even think properly, words spilling from her lips in one jumbled and nearly incomprehensible mess. Meanwhile he tried to calm himself by silently counting to ten in his mind, but his subconscious had been poisoned with images of the dark God playing games with his daughter. She explained herself the best she could, it seemed, and Corvo knew enough to see it had all been a horrible mistake on her part. Still it disappointed him to know she hadn’t heeded his warnings to never fool around with the supernatural - he had always urged her to stay as far away from the strange world of so called magic as she could.

Clearly it hadn’t been enough, and he blamed himself for not being completely transparent with his daughter, too afraid the mark on his hand might trigger her endless - and most of all fearless - sense of curiosity. Watching her struggle to express what the black-eyed bastard had done to her tore at his heart, and as soon as she moved her marked hand he covered it with his own, hiding it beneath his palm.

"It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault. I should have protected you better," he hesitated, eyes darting across her pretty face, so much like her mother’s. "We’ll find a way to keep you safe, keep you out of his grasp." He lowered his head to look into her eyes fully, reassuring her with his gaze. "I’ll talk to the High Overseer, ask him what we can do to ward him off."

* * *

For all her guilt and worry, his words did nothing to reassure her. At mention of the High Overseer, Emily snatched her hand away. “Are you mad? What in the world would make you think bringing the Abbey into this is a good idea?!” She shook her head, staring at him as though he’d suggested bathing in river krust acid. “We’ve had middling luck with the Overseers at best. Showing up with the mark of-“ Emily stopped herself, wondering how much he saw and how much it took to draw his attention. “-With the mark on my hand— it’s a bad idea. I could be imprisoned. The Kaldwin dynasty would fall.”

Over and over she shook her head, as though her persistence would force the alternative. “No.” What she needed - or what she wanted, at least, what she thought could help -- “Just… tell me about it. What it was like when you got it, what he said to you, how he treated you, how to use it— all of that.” She wanted to learn everything she could. About the mark, about the void, about the Outsider himself; maybe if she knew more she might feel more in control.

* * *

"Emily, dear, High Overseer Khulan has always been a good ally to us. I’m not saying we should tell him of the mark, but we could at least implore for ways to fend off the Outsider; make sure to shut him out."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep sigh as he felt the burden of the situation weigh on him. The Outsider was shrouded in mystery, the extent of his power impossible to assess. Right now, as things were, both he and his daughter were at his complete mercy. He didn’t like that, he hadn’t mastered the blade without reason. Corvo had always been a man of control, a quality Jessamine would often use as ammunition for her teasing. His job was to be the Royal Protector, and he didn’t take such responsibility lightly, especially not with his own daughter being the one he was in charge of protecting.

"Listen, there’s no time for a lengthy conversation right now concerning the mark, I have other duties to attend to and I’m sure you do too." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out the best approach to their predicament. "I can tell you all about it tonight, once you’ve finished up for the day. For now, know this, and perhaps take your time to reconsider my proposition; the Outsider never got close to me, nor did he attempt to seduce me." He raised his eyebrows to enunciate his words, trying to drive home his point. "His behaviour towards me has always been distant and strictly formal."

The image of the Outsider so close to his daughter came back to mind, and he tried his best to banish the sickening visual, the anger he’d initially felt flaring up again. One thing was certain; he wouldn’t let the god have his way, not if there was anything within his power to prevent it.

* * *

_"...nor did he attempt to seduce me.”_

Her face must’ve been utterly scarlet. Half in mortification that her father had witnessed such a thing and half in embarrassment that she’d needed the assurance. Her whole body had warmed at the words, and she would be lying if she said all of it was an attack on her pride. It was unsettling, but she… she thought she might _like_ being different to him. She _hated_ it, yes, but… But some small part of her glowed at the idea of being special. A part she very quickly smothered.

Emily nodded. “Fine. If you-- If you think it’s an acceptable risk-” She shot a sharp look at him, and was satisfied that his choice had been made with careful consideration instead of a spur of the moment decision. “-Very well. I trust your judgment.” _I suppose_. It wasn’t like there was anyone else she could ask for advice on this topic. And there were still secrets churning in her gut that she could never tell anyone. Prime among them the way her toes curled at the prospect of seeing him again.

* * *

Corvo nodded at his daughter’s agreement, a sense of relief settling over him once he knew she was willing to cooperate with his ideas. Her trust was exactly what he needed, and in turn he would offer her his - without question. He would not allow the Outsider’s games to drive a rift between them. He’d get to the bottom of this, even if he had to delve through every single word written on the heretical asshole this earth had to offer, he’d find a way to shield his daughter from corruption; he was all too aware of the nonconformity of the god’s current fixation with his only child - though he had only his personal experiences to draw from.

"Don’t worry about it, I won’t let anything happen to you," he assured his troubled daughter, hands wrapping around her shoulders before he dotingly pressed his lips to her forehead. "Go get some fresh air, the weather is pleasant and the garden will ease your mind." He sent her a warm smile in an attempt to lighten the mood, before stepping away, ready to leave.

He hadn’t any time to waste, dead-set on having his audience with that black-eyed bastard before day’s end.

* * *

Emily couldn’t help the small smile as her father kissed her forehead. Their affection toward each other wasn’t often so blatant, which made little occurrences like that mean all the more. It was even enough to cut through the chilling fog that the Outsider tended to cast over her. She fought to keep from rolling her eyes at his suggestion -- it wasn’t a bad idea. Some fresh air would do her good. And maybe the god would be less likely to show up if she was out in the open.

“Tonight, though,” she reminded him. “You’re the only one I can trust with this.”

* * *

_\---------_

With a quick goodbye and a reassurance that, yes, tonight he would tell her everything, Corvo headed out the room, his mind ahead of his body as it raced to figure out ways to lure in the god. He knew he saw everything, so he would know all about the conversation he’d just had with his daughter. That was fine, there was nothing there for the god to throw his way. No, the challenge lay mostly in the fact that he knew close to zero about the man - was he a man?

"Ugh." He didn’t even want to think about such things. He ran his hand through his hair as he begrudgingly made his way, steadily headed towards the only room he felt safe using. It technically couldn’t be considered snooping, he just needed to borrow the space to try and conjure the greatest enemy to the crown - no, the isles and perhaps all that lay beyond. He’d heard of worship of the Outsider in the far lands of Pandyssia, but those were stories, second hand accounts at best. Corvo was a man of facts, and he usually preferred uncovering the truth for himself, which was exactly why he had turned out to be a great spymaster.

He felt like a trespasser in his own home - well technically it was Emily’s home, not his, so he might have been correct in this case - either way he tried entering his daughter’s chamber as inconspicuously as possible, ignoring the passing maid that eyed him strangely. The gall she had; he was the empress’s father, surely he was entirely justified to visit her chambers whenever necessary. Entering the bedroom he immediately headed for the secret entrance towards the safe room, his hand balling into a fist as he prepared to turn his ring into the lock. At least he intended to... until he was distracted by a familiar hum. The sound was more a feeling, a hollow rattling of bones between the sinew that encased them - like the scurrying of rats across abandoned structures. The sound always sent him back to the days of weepers and wrapped up corpses.

He halted, his ears peaked as he tried to reason with himself. He should have expected his daughter to possess at least something of heretical nature, she had been marked after all. No more secrets they had promised, so surely she wouldn’t mind him taking the carved bone, would she? In their fight against the dangers of the Outsider, the first step would be to remove everything that could possibly be linked to his existence.

Yes, he was left no choice, he best get rid of all he could as soon as possible. Driven by nothing but pure instinct, his very skin drawn to the strange hum that made the surrounding air quiver, he walked around the room, following the rune’s signature trail.

There was no mistaking it... he was certain; it had to be beneath the bed. The thought of his daughter sleeping with the Outsider’s trinkets beneath her sheets reinvigorated some of his earlier anger - but he quickly forced himself to calm. Chances were this was the- his eyes darted towards the safe room a few meters ahead, before returning to the bed... Of course, it could be that the Outsider had placed it there, knowing Corvo would come. That bastard.

Corvo shook his head as he ducked, searching every inch of the bed, going as far as to lift the mattress. His eyes locked onto a small compartment at the foot, his hands quickly pushing the entire bedding aside. As he neared the wooden thing, he felt the familiar sensations that ran across his skin whenever he came close to a rune, like nails dragged across bare flesh. An involuntary shiver ran down his back, his hands reaching for the small lid, ready to open it - only to discover it had been locked.

Smart girl.

But Corvo wasn’t one to be easily deterred, if anything, breaking into things was one of his more peculiar hobbies; one he never told anyone about at parties - unless the liquor got the best of him. And since he had been tasked with the highly dangerous and taxing task of protecting the empress, that meant the liquor got the best of him at literally every party. Glancing around the room for any prying eyes, Corvo rose from the floor before taking a small step back. One of his hands disappeared within the folds of his jacket, retrieving a secret pocket knife he always carried with him - he had learned to be prepared for any possible problem, and before him awaited the perfect example.

With a single slash the trained assassin managed to break through the wood, the entire bed creaking beneath the force. Splinters were sent flying across the neatly kept floor, and he was certain he’d just tasked himself with ordering a new bed soon, the surrounding springs damaged... slightly. Digging into the compartment he quickly forgot about the mess he’d just made, his heart swelling with pride at having been victorious, his large hands wrapping around the sizzling rune. Glancing at the entryway in case of a sudden visitor, he made quick work of stashing the carved bone within his jacket. Looking at the ruined bed, he at least made an effort to put the bedding back into place before heading for the safe room again.

Once inside he darted down the stairs, taking out the rune swiftly as he looked for a place to enact his plan. He grunted in annoyance at the cluttered state of the room, disappointed in his daughter’s messy habits - eyes pointedly ignoring the unmade bed. He choose a nearby table that stood covered in papers, all filled with either mysterious scribblings or hasty sketches. He dumped the rune onto there, turning around in search for a lantern or candle, but finding none. Rubbing his face he walked towards the bed, taking the sheets and finding the candle he’d been looking for next to it - of course. He made quick work of it all, knowing he had other things to do and worrying his daughter might discover her broken bed before he had gone.

Constructing a small makeshift altar from the materials he gathered, he tried to think of a way that would quickly summon the god. However he had no real experience with calling on the Outsider, the god had always appeared of his own volition. Resting his hands upon the table-top, he recalled the conversations he had with him, remembering something about Sokolov trying...

"You could just ask, Corvo," that familiar and nearly monotone voice spoke out from behind his back. "It’s always good catch up with an..." a pause, and he instantly knew the god had moved, "old friend." The words were followed by a dark chuckle, barely audible, but deep enough to be felt.

Whipping around towards the sound, the assassin found that the god had already disappeared from his sight.

"You’ve gotten old, dear Corvo." The Outsider purred directly next to him, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at his marked.  
  
"Cut the crap," Corvo grumbled, glaring at the man who looked like he hadn’t aged a single day. "I want you to stay away from Emily."  
  
"You know, ‘want’ is a strange concept, is it not... Corvo?" The black-eyed bastard had started pacing, gaze travelling across the room. "For instance, often what we want is detrimental to what we need - such a human ailment wanting is, then."  
  
"I need you to remove her mark." Corvo had always been more direct than most people, a man of few words; people could often go for years convinced he was a mute when in fact he just didn’t see the point in commenting on every little insignificant thing.  
  
The Outsider halted, crossing his arms as he pinned the Royal Protector with a depthless stare. "Now why would I do that?" He asked curiously, tilting his head.  
  
"Because, and so help me if you don’t, I will find you wherever you are and I will snuff out whatever life you still contain," Corvo stepped forward, shoulders squared and hands balled into fists.  
  
"Ah, yes, I might see why you would want it to be gone - after all she is to be engaged... at least, that was the plan, right?" he shook his head as he continued his pacing, ignoring the threat made by the Royal Protector. "Of course, an alliance with Morley is crucial during these rather turbulent times, something the Spymaster is all too aware of, aren’t you Corvo?"  
  
"Stop speaking in questions and answer me." The Spymaster in question sneered, fed up with the Outsider’s riddles.  
  
"What would her husband-to-be think if he ever learned of the carnal desires that haunt his wife’s dreams? I must say Corvo she is voracious, that daughter of yours - but then again, I suppose she takes after her mother."  
  
Corvo made the mistake of trying to grapple with the wretched bastard, but his fist hit only smoke.  
  
"Of course, my name never rolled off of _Jessamine’s_ lips as she writhed in ecstasy." The Outsider reappeared again a short distance away, back turned to the Royal Protector.  
  
"I’ll come for you!" Corvo was filled with nothing but white hot rage, the Outsider having successfully pressed every single one of his buttons. All he could think of was hurting the pompous piece of shit in front of him.  
  
"I’ll be waiting for you then," the Outsider chuckled with amusement as his eyes caught the altar Corvo had constructed. "I’d wash your hands first if I were you," he suggested, tipping his head towards the makeshift curtain. "That thing has seen more action than the City Watch since the days of the plague."  
  
Corvo was about to bristle at the god some more, when he went up in smoke again, leaving behind a furious father and a humming rune.

Having a hard time controlling his anger, Corvo accidentally let some of it slip as he exited his daughter’s quarters, passing a maid as soon as he stepped out. “You better clean in there, I slipped on a rat and broke the goddamn bed,” he ordered the unsuspecting worker, managing to sound offended by the whole ordeal, before stomping off, mumbling about ‘fucking pests’ and ‘heretic rodents’.

* * *

_\---------_

Emily hated to admit it but… well, Corvo had kind of been right. It was unusually good weather, and getting out, spending her day outside the tower, she’d felt more sane than she had the last week. She’d ignored the occasional itch of her hand, instead focusing on the sun and the crash of waves and the rustle of leaves in the wind. It didn’t hurt that she let herself ignore some of her royal duties as well. For all she glanced through sketches for outfits she might wear to upcoming events, she refused to think on the importance of those events. Of perhaps meeting a future husband (not a wife, never a wife, not with royalty’s ridiculous focus on ‘securing an heir’) in the midst of political subtleties and formalities. No, she’d just look at the pretty pictures, sit back, and feel the sun on her skin.

By the time she returned to her quarters she’d achieved a soft golden glow from where the sun had kissed her cheeks and collarbones. Honestly, keeping her gloves on had been the only irritating reminder of her new affliction.

Slipping off her jacket as she stepped through the doorway to her bedroom, she halted. The bed frame she stared at was not the same one that had been there just hours ago. Four quick steps brought her to it. No, this was certainly not the bed she’d slept in. And the rune--

She glanced around, checking anywhere that some (apparently daft) cleaning staff may have tucked it, but it was clear: the rune was gone.

Emily’s heart leapt to her throat. Next would come the blackmail, or the trial. Her throne was in danger. She had to find whoever had taken it, whoever knew her blasphemous secret--

Corvo. She had to tell Corvo.

Ignoring her discarded jacket she took quick steps, making her way to the chambers of the Royal Protector. He might know what to do. With a quick rapping knock, she went for the knob and was half-surprised to find it unlocked. “Corvo-” She glanced around, verifying that the room was empty. “Someone infiltrated my chambers. They-- they found something. Took something. And my bed-- I think they broke it.”

* * *

Corvo was surprised to find his daughter basically barging into his office, looking like she just had the fright of her Royal life.

"Woah there, calm down." He rose from his chair, discreetly pushing aside a large can of Pratchett eel jelly; Corvo tended to get hungry when in a bad mood. It took him a few minutes to register what she was saying, realising she had most definitely noticed the slight changes made to her room.

Okay, so maybe she had been calm, and it was actually Corvo who was sort of freaking out - which was ridiculous because he did what he had to do as a father. Yes, that was right, he’d done it all to protect her. Of course he ignored the thought that he could have asked beforehand, and she could have just given him the occult object. No, he’d been in a hurry, every passing minute was a minute won by the Outsider and his sick little games.

"Sweetheart, it’s okay." He put a reassuring hand on one of her shoulders, fishing for the rune with his other. "See, here it is. Safe and sound," he spoke as he pulled the piece of carved bone from his imperial robes. "I took it to speak with the Outsider..." his mind trailed off to the conversation he’d had, his blood still boiling at the god’s words. Oh he’d get that bastard all right, no one spoke of the Royal sheets like that - or worse, his daughter to whom they belonged.

* * *

Unbeknownst to her, Emily’s brow had lifted and her lip had formed a sort of incredulous curl. He was talking to her like a child. She _hated_ being talked to like a child. But quickly she smoothed her face to something a bit more professional, if irritated. Gloved fingers splayed before him, ordering the item’s return. “I would appreciate if you spoke to _me_ rather than destroying my property, thank you.” And she’d been in such a good mood not an hour before.

She hesitated as his words sunk in. Corvo had spoken with the Outsider. Just thinking his name made her shift foot to foot, her throat feeling a moment of tightness. And why had her father reached out to him? She thought he’d been looking for ways to keep the god _away_ , not summon him. “What… what did you talk about?” Her tone wavered, losing its chill and gaining an edge of wariness.

* * *

He shot the waiting hand an incredulous look, raising his eyebrows at the gesture. If she thought he was going to return the rune to her then she would be sorely mistaken.

"Well for one," he grumbled as he put the item away again, "you’re not getting this back. Keeping a rune with you is like screaming for the Outsider to come and annoy the living hell out of you." He shook his head at his daughter disapprovingly. "And secondly, I don’t have the time to run every decision by you, we’re dealing with an immoral god here." He turned and headed back to his chair, sitting down wearily, fingers rubbing his forehead. "I told him to stay away from you and remove his mark, but really nothing else that would be of interest to you." He hadn’t missed her change of tone, and she had sounded a tad too cautious for her own good.

* * *

_“Keeping a rune with you is like screaming for the Outsider to come and annoy the living hell out of you."_

Her lips twitched despite her better judgment: he had a point. But Emily schooled her features back to mild irritation as he went on. Arms crossed over her chest and she lifted her chin in a posture of challenge. Nothing that would be of interest to her? He _knew_ her, right? She was far too curious for her own good - as they were both well aware of, in this particular instance. “An immortal god has all the time in the world; a few minutes to speak to your daughter seems relatively minimal.”

Still, she shook her head. They were both too stubborn for this to go anywhere useful. “Can we just - you said you’d tell me what happened when you got your mark. How to use it,” she reminded him, taking a slow breath as she settled herself into patience.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew this dream. This was one of _those_ dreams. The not-nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Enjoy some heavy vampire themes. And a suitable update in honor of the end of kinktober - have some full-on Harlequin-style smut ;D
> 
> A heads-up, tho: there is definitely some dubcon/reluctance in this chapter. (See adjusted tags.) It makes a bit more sense through the lens of the vampire trope, but I'd understand if it just isn't some people's cup of tea and invite you to skip all but the first section of this chapter.  
> -OWT

Emily’s mind was still churning hours later. She’d known that Corvo had been an assassin of a kind for the Loyalists, she knew that much, but she’d never known the extent of his powers. Seeing what he could do - no matter how reluctant he’d been to demonstrate it - had been… well, it was amazing.

She’d _seen_ time stop around her, watched him pluck a frozen bolt from the air. She’d experienced the jolt of Blinking with his arm around her, and it had been thrilling. She’d watched her father summon rats and disappear into one of them only to scurry away and reenter from the doorway moments later as a man. But it seemed the only ability she shared with him was their odd perception - Dark Vision. He’d pointed out some of the intricacies of it, but even that was slightly modified. Whatever these new powers were, his help wasn’t going to be enough; she had to explore them for herself.

Even since talking with him, she’d discovered a new one. Wrapped in a plush towel, she’d preemptively reached for the bath salts on her vanity and suddenly had seen - had _felt_ \- a whip of purple energy snake out of her and wrap around the just-out-of-reach bottle, pulling it to her hand. She’d nearly dropped the flask in her surprise, but managed to keep her grip steady. The hot water and strong herbal scent of the salts was even more appreciated after that.

Sinking deep into the bath she’d found that motion, that trigger to pull, and let her aim drift across the room. Different areas had different feelings, some - on objects - an instinctual pull _toward_ her, as the salts had been brought to her, and others - on open space - a pull _in_ her, tugging at her gut, in a way that made her think of Blinking with Corvo. Her mind was eerily clear when thinking through it, logically reasoning the uses of this new ability. By the end of her bath her skin was pruned from the water - except for that single hand - and a series of objects had been piled beside the tub.

Dressing herself for bed, Emily found herself avoiding her usual nightgown - its soft white ruffles feeling tainted by the memory of smoke and black eyes - instead hovering fingers over various other fabrics. None of them had felt right, all feeling too pure, too cute, too childish for… whatever it was she’d become. Instead, she’d used her new ability to navigate to her safe room, dug through the old drawers of emergency clothing, and picked out one of her father’s shirts - far too big for her, and a bit too short to wear to sleep, but at least it wasn’t a dress.

There was the upside to Corvo taking her rune away: for the first time in a week its humming didn’t sink into her bones. She felt alone again, and it was a comfort. Without the rune, he couldn’t just pop in to torment her. At least, she hoped he couldn’t.

Laying in bed, Emily watched her hands, studying the symbol and running through the triggers she’d learned. Curiously, she repeated the motion she’d made in her office, drawing forth another shifting mass of rock shards that hung in the air. Curling onto her side, she watched the shivering points, her eyelids heavy. There was something lulling about it, the hypnotic way they shifted and sang to her. When the apparition flickered away, she’d already fallen asleep.

_\---------_

For a while her dreams were blissfully empty. A comforting darkness, not like the nightmares where she felt fear pressing in on her at all sides. No, here it was like liquid that wrapped her and let her move all at once - nothing binding her, holding her down, stabbing into her skin-- nothing like that. Soft. Empty. Open.

Yet she was on some kind of surface… As dreams often did, things shifted and seemed to make sense within the dream logic, the way she rolled over, feeling silken sheets wrapped around her, not unlike her own bed…

...Oh.

She knew this dream. This was one of _those_ dreams. The not-nightmares.

Fear played at the edge of her mind without overwhelming it, a sense of unease that wasn’t horror or anxiety. Just… anticipation.

The fingertips tracing up the lean line of her thigh still made her shiver, even though she was half-aware she was dreaming. Skipping over the hem of her nightshirt his hand slithered over her hip, under her elbow, splaying over clothed ribs and drawing her back against a firm chest. Another hand moved aside the hair that had escaped its loose binding, pushing the collar of her shirt further open before lips pressed to her newly bared shoulder.

She always liked this part. The soft part.

...And how quickly it was over.

Hands tightened, wrapping around her shoulders, restricting her as a fervent mouth attacked her skin, kissing, biting, scraping against her roughly, hot breath in her ear. It wasn’t _really_ him, she knew it wasn’t, it was why she let herself enjoy it so much, this not-nightmare-- why she moaned at the hand that slid down her stomach, pressing between her legs. It was awful and wonderful all at once. Brutal in the best way.

But too soon he stilled. He didn’t disappear - his arms still pressed her against him, still rested at the junction of her thighs, but he’d stopped moving. He hadn’t stopped moving before.

Emily quickly became far too aware of her position, heat rippling through her. A small whine worked from her throat, but she bit her lips between teeth, unwilling to speak, though she arched against his frozen form.

* * *

He watched with cold eyes as she writhed beneath the touch of hands that looked like his, even moaned in response to lips that would kiss like his. She was dreaming, moving eagerly beneath her own personal rendition of him. It amused him to watch her give in so easily, her mind without its defences beneath the veil of sleep - he knew all too well dreams never lied. The extent of her desire was laid bare before him, the dream-version of him manipulating every inch of her heated flesh, drawing whimpers and moans from those inviting lips - lips that could curse and praise in the same breath. The sight sent a shiver down his spine, warmed his icy blood enough make him long for more - to want to warm his skin against hers and soak up the vitalising passion that coloured her cheeks red. He was touch starved, banished to exist as nothing but a shadow of his former self, a ghoul made of black smoke and death’s whisper.

Bitterly he stilled the dream, froze the version of him that had tasted her skin and had consumed her desirous fever hungrily. He observed her as she lay in wait, an impatient whine escaping her before she could stop it, her body stiffening. Silently, he inched closer, flowed across the mist of her dream like a ghost. His eyes caught the arch of her hips as she tried to nudge his dream-version back into action, needy and desperate. She didn’t see him nearing her, floating ever closer, his skin buzzing with anticipation. He rested his body on the other side of her without so much as a sound, floating just above the bed to keep from alerting her. Absentmindedly his fingers hovered over the skin of her thighs, drawing patterns in the air as he lowered his face, his nose nearly bumping into hers. His eyes roved the curves of her body, pausing at the dip of her waist before heading towards the collar of her shirt, following the swell of her bosom revealed by the low neckline.

He licked his lips, imagining her on them, savoury yet sweet. Allowing a single breath to dance along her skin, his hand moved upwards, towards the top of her shirt, smokey tendrils slowly undoing the buttons. “Does father-dearest know of the debauched deeds his daughter dreams of committing as she wears his shirt?” There was a rough edge to his voice, something dangerous and feral, as he traced along the curve of her jaw with half-lidded eyes. 

* * *

She’d closed her eyes, trying to will the dream to continue, brow furrowed as she tried to concentrate on the feeling of a body drawn tight against hers. Emily’s mind could be powerful when she wished it to be, and right now it was entirely focused on seizing the pleasure that even her own facsimile of the god denied her. If she held herself just so, if she thought hard enough of one group of nerves or another, she might take for herself what was being so unjustly withheld. And it seemed to be working-- how she felt the static along her skin, making her let out a slow controlled breath, a harsh determination in her.

Finally, at long last, she seemed to have broken through whatever mental barricade had paused her dream, and she felt the fabric of her nightshirt slipping against her. Her sigh quickly became a groan as she leaned back, pushing her shoulders, her hips against the figure that held her to his chest, pressing her breasts toward whatever phantom force threatened to lay them bare.

The voice chilled her to her core. They never spoke. Never. Not in any dream before. But then again, she’d never known his voice before. Now she did, and she knew more of who he was, and she quickly came to terms with his perverse torment. It seemed only appropriate, based on his behavior earlier that day. Every muscle in her held taut, she gradually opened her eyes, a slight wariness in them that fought to keep her reasonable when she ached to be touched.

She swallowed hard as she took in the sight of him -- another him? The concept making her dizzy. But so quickly her breath thickened and her mind raced and cheeks flushed and never had she even considered _two_ of them, why wasn’t she finding the idea as abhorrent as she should? Even his words didn’t irritate her as much as she wanted them to. Perhaps it was the annoyance over her father’s overprotective ways earlier that day that gave the jab a satisfying sort of bitterness. And he spoke of _debauched deeds_ … Her eyes rested on his lips, already too curious at the promise of four wandering hands, two mouths - thoughts that made her blush even in sleep.

* * *

He managed to elicit the same frenzied sounds from her as his dreamy doppelgänger, spurring him on to try and see just how far she would go. Her eyes had opened, taking in the sight of him without so much as a flicker of hesitation, and he couldn’t stop the corrupt smile that split his features when those eyes - full of passing wanton thoughts - found his lips. He seamlessly flowed into action with his double, black wisps of smoke still undoing her buttons, slowly, steadily, patiently, as his double continued his work on the covetable lover between them. The hand that had halted at the Outsider’s command now continued its path, only more slowly, calmly, like the drawn out nips and kisses that were showered along her skin.

His gaze remained locked with hers as the last button was taken from its place, leaving the shirt to slide against her skin, held into place only by the smoke that caressed every bared inch of her. The hand of his double intentionally skirted the places he knew she needed him the most, fingers instead digging into her skin as he increased pressure, nails grazing the soft flesh of her inner thigh in a mix of carefully controlled pain and pleasure. His slow bites became rougher, harder, but never faster, his tongue darting out to caress the ache he left.

Meanwhile the real Outsider dragged the tips of his fingers along the fabric of her loosened shirt, slowly pulling it further down her shoulder, his cold breath splaying across the flushed skin he steadily revealed. His eyes followed the way the fabric gave way beneath the pressure, observing every little detail, heavy-lidded eyes catching the small hairs that rose on end at his gentle ministrations. The haze that surrounded him became increasingly thicker, an unconscious reaction to his ardor, wrapping around the wanting Empress with bulky strands, covertly restraining her.

His cool breaths brought goosebumps to her skin, her chest pressed forward as if begging to be liberated, the fabric he pulled down her frame catching behind the rise of her front. His eyes tried to watch it all, observe every little change in her quivering figure, his mind drawing out each moment to savour his indulgence. His lips hovered over hers motionlessly, his body perfectly still as he bided his time.

He spoke then, voice fluid like water; cool and smooth. “Do you want me, Emily?”

* * *

The hands that had stilled against her - _his_ hands, all of them his - moved once more, and Emily’s eyes fluttered. But she couldn’t look away, even as the sheer need of it weighed her eyelids she was transfixed - staring into terrifying endless depths of black as what had once been a desperate, vicious, _eager_ touch slowed to a torturous pace. She felt the throb, the need between her legs even as graceful fingers skimmed away, barely brushing the fabric covering her, instead teasing at its edges, just far enough that every touch sent just the slightest tickle of sensation where she truly wanted it, but never _enough_.

Her breath caught briefly in her throat, stuttering out in a low groan at the sting and aching pulse each time his teeth sank into her. Still, her stare never strayed from the man before her, half challenging - defiant, willing to prove that she could take every torment he offered - and half pleading - begging for the pleasure that might be her reward. Her tongue swept across open lips, catching between her teeth as she tasted her surroundings, a smouldering flame in her amber eyes burning that she wanted to taste _more_ than air - that she wanted to lick his skin and taste his mouth and press her tongue at every sensitive spot on his body as well. Things she’d never dared to speak about, she wanted them now, wanted to try them, to experiment - to experience the most perverse and depraved desires that had ever whispered through her mind. Nowhere but in dreams. She was something else, something utterly base and primal and--

She sucked in a soft hiss, eyes finally shutting for a brief moment as her nightshirt slid down her body-- Every inch of her shivered, her skin tingling and tightening and flushing a deep pink at two sources of breath; one hot, one cold, both swirling their own currents over her body. Reaching with her right hand she found herself restrained, and just the slightest touch of annoyance fleetingly passed through her mind.

_“Do you want me, Emily?”_

His lips were so close but when she tried to tilt toward him she found herself just out of reach, a brief threatening pressure on her windpipe holding her back. Emily’s eyes were dark, enthralled and intoxicated, though she didn’t answer him. She never spoke in dreams. Never needed to. Settling back, the pressure of restraint lifted, she flexed her left hand instead, a hungry curiosity in her as the target of her new ability traveled over his body, as though she might be able to pull him closer with the inky tethers.

* * *

She surprised him with her resourcefulness, but then again that’s exactly what had drawn him to her, wasn’t it? She had always been inventive, had always managed to turn every situation to her favour. What would she do if she found out she wouldn’t be able to exert her safe little illusion of control on him? His eyes followed her shiny new toy as she used it to roam his body, the dark tether dragging across his figure teasingly. She was smart, but he was a god.

Halting the simulacrum that had continued to place nips and kisses across her skin, he took full control of her dream. The entire atmosphere darkened, swallowed them in a way only the Void could. With a single flick of his wrist he enforced his will upon the jittery sling, taking her own power away from her and using it hold her in place instead.

"An empress should know better than to cheat," he breathed against her skin huskily, lifting a hand to caress her cheek, his gaze darkening at the contact, his cold skin robbing her of her warmth. "But a marked one," he continued in a slow drawl, his fingertips raking across her face until he pressed his palm down, cupping her sharp features. Her touch warmed his still blood, infused it with life. "Should know better than to use my own tools against me." Every single tendril that had wrapped around her tightened at his command, turning the surrounding skin white. His hand traveled down her jaw, to her neck, his icy skin leaving hers almost blue, soaking up her energy greedily. His fingers wrapped around her throat, digging into the tender flesh. "I’ll ask you one more time, Your Majesty," his gaze flicked across her features hungrily, "do you want me?"

* * *

Her sleepy intoxication had her half-dizzy as the air grew thicker, heavier, pressing in around them and making the endless abyss feel suddenly too small. It didn’t seem all that unreasonable for the experience to straddle the line between dream and nightmare. Even her own power turning on her seemed to make sense in dream-logic, her fear of misuse, the intimidation of something so dangerous being in her hands. Her whole body felt heavy, weighed down with an almost drunken lust, wrapped in skin and magic, hips shifting in a lazy needy undulation. The headiness of it dragged her eyes closed, letting herself melt into the arms of the apparition, allowing herself to give in in this one fantasy, to open herself to wherever her mind was taking her.

_"An empress should know better than to cheat..."_

It was the touch of skin on skin that made her stomach wrench, her chest jolting in painful surprise as she tensed. She tried to blink the dreamy haze from her vision, suddenly confused. He didn’t feel _right_. He was… too cold. And too… _real_. This was no longer just a dream. How had she missed the discordant hum that seemed to imbue his very being with wrongness? She was too shocked to try to hide the fear that quickly cleared her gaze, hands curling into fists as she lurched against the binds - the arms, the viscous tethers - that held her.

The cold trail of his touch sent ice coursing through her veins even as - and she was mortified to acknowledge it - something deep inside of her burned for him. Amber eyes shuttered quickly, wary but trying to hide the inner turmoil that threatened to drive her mad. The restraints grew tighter. She swallowed a whimper, all too aware of the bob of her throat with his hand tight around it. Golden skin had gone pale, but she didn’t dare speak, too afraid of what might spill from her lips. Instead she haltingly, carefully, shook her head. _Liar_.

* * *

He let out a soft, throaty laugh, but there was nothing cheerful about the hollow sound he produced. He longingly watched her struggle beneath his supernatural hold, muscles rippling beneath her skin deliciously. He gently caressed her throat with his thumb, tracing teasing circles above her windpipe. His gaze roamed her tender flesh, his head bending forward, tip of his nose brushing along the curve of her jaw. He paused his lips at her ear, the inky tendrils slithering across her figure like snakes, slowly wringing the life from her flesh.

"It seems I can’t hear you," he breathed dangerously, before flicking out his tongue, slowly dragging its tip down the shell of her ear - towards her jaw, headed for her slender neck - leaving a trail of black crystals behind, the Void itself seeping into her skin at his touch. He eagerly tasted her sweet flesh, curling his tongue back into his mouth before assaulting her throat with his teeth, raking one of his sharp canines across the sensitive area, his lips ghosting over the throbbing veins beneath. His hand had moved to cradle the back of her head, his nails digging into her scalp. He continued to take more of her, slowly fragmenting her being, devouring her soul with every menacing touch.

* * *

Emily’s pulse stuttered between too slow and too fast, her skin uncomfortably tight. Squeezing her eyes shut didn’t help, far too aware of every sensitive inch - far too aware that _she was practically naked_ -

At the realization her skin flushed pink, the heat of it shocking against the chill of the magic- the chill of his wandering gaze--

Maybe the strictures would help? She thought they had before, but… But she could hardly think like this. His mouth at her ear made her seize, jerking and trembling, and at the touch of his tongue a groan somewhere between fear and anger and frustration whined from between clenched teeth. She closed her eyes so tight stars swam on the inside of her eyelids.

Whatever it was he poisoned her with, it ignited. Her blood was cold fire, the magic wriggling through every vein and capillary, reminding her too much of that first moment of receiving the mark, the raging ecstasy that stampeded through her. She could feel it, the way it wanted to consume her, to run her ragged, and there was an instant that she thought it might take her, her skin - a hand, a foot - shuddering and dispersing to smoke over and over before something-- like a switch, and she had redirected the chaos somewhere else, regaining some control of her mind.

When she forced her eyes open again they were wide, the whites stark in the darkness, and she bared her teeth in a hiss. The aching, the itch, the sting, the throb; she hated how good it felt. She tried not to pant, but still every breath was heavy. He wanted to hear her? She glared into the dark, her words too much a moan as she spat, “ _Fuck you._ ”

* * *

The words more resembled a moan than a curse, and he had to fight the groan that begged to escape him at her anger. Instead he grinned against her, the expression revealing more of his teeth as he briefly paused his assault on her delicious skin.

"As you wish," he rumbled, his duplicate springing back to life, his own hand releasing her neck and gliding towards her bared shoulder - slowly slipping beneath the folds of her father’s shirt, dragging the fabric further down with it. His dreamy apparition joined him at the other side of her neck, licking and sucking at her longingly, leaving red marks scattered along her sun-kissed flesh. The fake hand followed behind its real counterpart, mixing hot with cold, steadily baring more of her. The Outsider didn’t hesitate to continue further down her slender neck himself, his teeth grazing the erogenous area roughly, imposing every bit of control he had over her, poisoning her nerves with his sinister aura. He trapped her body between the both of them, moving to force her up against his duplicate who continued to ravage her; slipping one of his hands between her thighs smoothly, caressing her flushed skin except for where he knew she needed it most, his hips grinding up against her from behind.

The Outsider greedily consumed every vibration that traveled through her, his tongue darting out and staining her black with the all-devouring Void, its magic sweeping through her violently. His hazy restraints wrapped around her enough to completely keep her from moving, her entire being surrendered to his malevolent mercy. His dream-self captured one of her breasts as soon as it spilled free, the Outsider continuously hitching her shirt down even further. At her response he sank his teeth into her savory flesh, fervently tasting the vital essence that made her so different from him, so much more enticing - his tongue needily lapping up the metallic flavours that leaked from her luscious being.

* * *

For a second he paused. He paused and she thought perhaps he’d stop; he’d release her, she’d sink back into sleep to be hounded by whatever other nightmares might come. And in that brief moment she was hit with the unsettling realization-- she might not actually _want_ him to stop. Her breath stilled in her chest, heart thudding a lopsided angry rhythm, feeling his lips shift and curve against her skin in what she could only imagine was unadulterated wickedness.

It took her a moment to comprehend his words, the sound buzzing against her skin and sending shockwaves straight to her core, hurried along by the maddening sensation of two-- _two_ mouths-- she choked out a strangled huff of breath, a half-enunciated “- _fuck-_ ” as a bodily shiver coursed through her violently. Something in the back of her mind felt sick as she bucked against his hold, writhing and sinking teeth into her lip to keep from crying out at the onslaught of attention. She was terrified - _terrified_ \- that even if he _did_ let go of her, she’d just cling to him harder. That she’d attack with her own particular brand of deranged hunger, spurred on by the exquisitely targeted stimulation.

It was horrible.

It was _extraordinary_.

Nails dug into her palms, every hair on her body at attention as hands slid fabric down her arms, gathering at her wrists, leaving her functionally nude apart from slight undergarments that now felt both insubstantial and insurmountable, where she needed them and where she desperately didn’t want them all at once. Her skin burned, _needing_ to be touched, and muscles bunched and tensed as she tried to stop herself from arching and rolling and grinding back against him, so focused on self-restraint that she let her head fall back with a guttural frustrated moan that choked off in a high mewling whine as one of them - the one she’d made, she realized; the _fake_ one - cupped and tugged and played with a breast, just slightly too harshly, every jolt of sensation winding her further and further and-

She bit back the short shriek that stabbed into the Void as his teeth pierced skin. Distantly she wondered if she might faint, but the worry dissipated in an instant as sheer euphoria slammed into her. For all she’d cleared her mind of the tantalizing Void that had clawed at her, she hadn’t cleansed her blood and now it sang, mixing with the magic in the air and shooting lances of shattering delirium in bursts through her skull. Eyes fluttered and rolled and - she wasn’t sure if it was for seconds or minutes - all she wanted was to be touched, she craved contact with whatever this thing was, wanted it all over her, inside of her, needed it to rip her apart--

“Oh _fuck--_ god of-” She thrashed hopelessly, throwing off whatever spell had taken over her, freeing her mind even if her body still yearned for more. She couldn’t stop pressing herself to his mouth, to the body behind her, panting around her her bitten tongue to keep from begging in her frenzy.

* * *

His skin heated at her hopeless protests, his parasitical hold on her tightening, pleasure surging through his very sinew. Still he remained calm, composed, in charge of every orchestrated movement of him and his clone. He sucked up every hot flare of her temper, her fight heating her delicious tissue, his skillful tongue consuming every enticing bit of her savoury aroma. She made him throb in ways that drove his animalistic senses mad, his withered heart slowly starting into a sluggish, irregular beat. But as much as he longed to satiate his growing hunger as promptly as he could, he knew better than to rush these sorts of things. This wasn’t about him - not yet. The simulacrum had reached the junction between her neck and shoulder, his hand still teasing one of her breasts, thumb circling the sensitive bud that flushed a hot pink beneath his sensual touch.

The Outsider grinned hungrily against her skin, finding exquisite pleasure in her inability to stop her body from responding to him. He allowed his own hand to travel further down, digits ghosting across her burning flesh, hooking beneath the thin fabric of her only remaining apparel and slowly pulling the lacy garment down her restrained thighs. His ghostly tendrils forced her legs to follow his movements and grant him easier access, her body twisting between the both of them, soon covered in nothing but his magical conjurings. His head pounded with his hammering pulse as he managed to glance down, his ravenous gaze drinking in the curves of her bared physique. His smoky limbs slithered along her frame, forcing her on her back, his clone immediately continuing his journey downward, tongue leisurely tracing along her skin in rough circles.

He joined in, mirroring his double’s ministrations on her opposite side, his hand clasping the inside of her thigh, hooking it across his hip, spreading her legs as the both of them worked their way down her body. He could taste the Void in her veins, its insatiable force calling out for him, begging him to guzzle down every last drop of her, until her beautiful lips would turn blue and cold - until she’s as much inside of him as he is inside of her, her very soul torn apart and devoured by his appetite. He closed his eyes as his nails dug further into her skin, piercing it, his control briefly slipping as his tongue trailed up the ascent of her breast, sensitive nerves tasting the delicious mound as it danced beneath him, teeth pinching its peak - her continuous efforts to slip free from his restraints only heightening his ardor.

His double imitated his exact movements, her other leg pulled aside too, his burning fingers digging into her skin with lustful force. They continued their descent, their bodies sliding down slowly, mouths headed for her most sensitive area without hesitance, hands trailing down her shapely calves. Even though her mind fought for control, he knew she would be absolutely powerless against the Void as it sang against his lips, resonating through every quivering inch of her. He would rob her of her breath and senses, he would devour her flesh and leave her bared to the soul until she existed of nothing but pleasure mixed with pain. He would ignite her very blood until it sparked and sizzled beneath her fevered flesh, poison her with his essence until she begged for him to salvage her.

But not now. Not yet.

As they reached the sloping arch of her hips, his obsidian tendrils wrapping further around her and gently caressing her throbbing need as their ravaging mouths approached, he coaxed her to surrender to him, waiting for her violent thrashing to cease.

* * *

By the time Emily had come to her senses (at least, somewhat), she found the dreamscape once more fluidly adjusting, and herself pinned down against what she could no longer confidently call a bed. If she thought too long about it she’d be in for a headache - as it was, she was unsure if she was standing or laying down or perhaps just floating on air, they all seemed plausible in this other world, both concrete and abstract, real and imagined all at once. The one thing she was sure of was his skin and her need. Even without the magic driving her out of her mind she still _needed_.

She wasn’t sure when she’d been divested of the last of her clothing, but she didn’t have the will to protest it. She didn’t trust herself to protest anything. It felt too good. For all she may regret it later, for all she may have admonished herself ahead of time, in the moment she could only half remember that she _should_ be protesting, _should_ be telling him no. But she didn’t want to. Not a single word of objection would cross her lips, even as she shook her head in mandatory dissent. She wasn’t sure if she struggled to escape or to attack him with a similar fervor. Brief flashes of coherent thought flickered in her head but she refused to listen to them, eyes screwed shut as she let the flood of meaningless noise fill her, letting her focus on every touch--

The deep groan clawed its way from her throat as hands pushed her legs apart, pressing into sensitive skin with a firm touch that she gave in to - too quickly. She could feel those dizzying hands, so similar and so different, but she wanted more than just a noticeable presence. Legs quivered as she arched and muscles flexed and pressed against his hold, letting him bruise her, forcing him to grip tighter. Teeth biting her lips closed, censoring herself, breath came in heavy halting streams from her nose until-

One sudden tight hiss escaped her as fingers curved and dug nails into her flesh, the sharp sting ringing out across her skin next to the throbbing pressure of his bruising grasp. It was like she could feel the burst of dopamine fizzing inside her. She barely managed to silence herself at the mouth on her breast, once more forcing lips shut and humming out her visceral response, squirming under his touch.

She very nearly vibrated with anticipation as lips slid down her skin. Unable to resist, she risked a quick glance - that made her skin burn with the perversity of it - only to snap her head back, contorting her body, pressing toward him until she was tight and tense, at the sensation of something inhuman that stroked over her too-slick skin. Teeth pinched the tip of her tongue until she tasted blood, suppressing the obscenities that threatened to rush from her mouth.

* * *

He drank up every shiver that rippled across her tense skin, her body flexing and twisting against his lips, her want rolling over his tongue with every stroke he administered. There was no more denying her lustful fever, her throbbing need that awaited him. The hazy air filled with the sweet scent of her anticipation, wrapping around his skull and dizzying his senses. Slowly collecting himself between kisses, he carefully distanced his mind from his own flare of passion.

Later. He would most certainly have his fill later.

Nipping at her flesh a final time - just for good measure - he allowed his smoke to consume him again, his body melting into thick vapour, black mist briefly shrouding her exposed form, kissing her skin and leaving it moist with traces of his twisted magic. His duplicate followed, the dream quickly collapsing in on itself, the both of them abandoning the bared empress where she lay - vulnerable. The world around her shifted as soon as he retreated, her naked frame the only thing to now fill the endless abyss that swallowed her.

The air hummed with malicious whispers, ghostly voices that echoed through the Void for all eternity, desperate souls all claimed by its hunger. His eyes didn’t leave her, his watchful gaze still enraptured by the state he left her in, his presence tangible only in the stale air that slid across charcoal stone - obsidian slabs sharp enough to cut flesh. He would let her simmer in her own heat - she would soon discover what the maddening hunger of the Void truly encompassed.

She would seek him out again soon enough. And until then, he would enjoy watching her every move.

* * *

_\---------_

Emily jerked awake with the echo of a scream in the back of her mind, still surrounded by night. For all the warmth of her skin, the way her body longed for contact, she felt chilled. Unsettled, but at the same time _terribly_ desperate. She’d already slipped a hand beneath her waistband before she realized what she was doing and quickly withdrew, though the telltale heat of her core was impossible to ignore. Every inch of her hummed and twitched and _needed_ , and she tossed and turned endlessly.

Curious tentative fingers wandered her neck, chest, arms, and found no broken skin though plenty of sore spots littered her body. She knew that feeling, felt it after her most strenuous runs and most vigorous encounters. Gentle touches soon grew firmer, pressing against each throbbing bruise, triggering a sharp ache that felt far too good. She still shifted, still squirmed, her mind drifting as fingers pressed against what she assumed had been a bite at the juncture of neck and shoulder, a ring of sensation. There was still that hunger in her, that itch that begged to be relieved. His earlier words came back to haunt her. _"The human mind is unable to clearly distinguish fear from arousal until it fully processes the cause."_ But she _knew_ the cause. Yet her wires were still crossed, still mistaking fear for excitement, and now pain for pleasure.

Her thoughts were a mess, too tired to think clearly but too wound up to sleep, questions and ideas and scenes drifting and catching and fading quickly. For every curious query of why and how there was a flickering image - lips and tongues and fingers digging into shoulder blades - she wondered what his mouth tasted like, what he’d _feel_ like-- _“Do you want me, Emily?”_ So much. Too much. She wanted to mount him and mark him and make him hers, instead of the other way around. And she wanted to give in. Morbid curiosity ate at her, wondering what would happen if and when she let the magic of the Void seize her up in all its rampaging gluttony.

The wash of blood was gone from her mind as soon as she glimpsed it, and she easily silenced whatever it was in her that had brought the image to her in the first place. It was all too quickly forgotten in the rushing tide of words and scenes and sounds…

He’d maintained such composure with her, such control. But she could break him. How easily she could imagine the choked groans and shuddering breaths, the moans of need rumbling against her skin. Emily Kaldwin, the girl who tamed a god. Lips pressed together in a silent hum, she shifted again. Fuck it. She wasn’t about to fall asleep in this condition, and it was all she could think of. He couldn’t read her thoughts, even if he could eavesdrop on her dreams. And if he saw her… Her skin grew hot even as she wriggled further under her covers. She refused to be this frustrated. Slipping a hand between her legs, she rolled over, burying her face in her pillow and surrendering to the fleeting barrage of disconnected thoughts that flickered in a half-conscious mind.

Lips, teeth - the hum of the shrine - sweat - friction - her tongue on his skin - his arms around her - her hands pinning him down - black eyes - a hum against her skin - gentle kisses on the back of her neck, the tense stretch of arms held behind her back - the glow of his mark on her hand - nails raking down his chest, straddling him, his attempts to buck her off - each struggle and bite and -

 _"I’ve always wondered what it’d be like, to be taken apart by an empress… It’s a sort of fantasy of mine.”_ Once more she found herself pushing away flickers of something else, short flashes of the horrifying, the grotesque, of rats and smoke-like sludge and viscera and the taste of blood.

She turned her head to the other side, redirecting her thoughts, focusing on the physical sensation, cutting out whatever corrupting influence had invaded. Sex and lust and nerve endings played like a violin; she bit into the sheets and attacked her own body, pushing herself well past the edge once, then again just to clear her mind.

Panting, she finally rolled back onto her back, her mind blissfully blank, and body exhaustedly sated. Before her regrets could hit her, before she could examine the mistakes she’d made, before she could spare a thought as to what had tainted her imagination, she was out cold. A dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got to love a good corrupting Void, eh? Though truly, I understand mixing sex and violence rubs some people the wrong way. I, however, am occasionally a morbid motherfucker who likes a bit of horror. And it's Halloween.  
> -OWT


End file.
